Waiting
by Eliza Castle
Summary: There are less than twelve hours remaining before Captain Will Turner returns to his wife and son. How does the Turner family prepare for the change that is about to take place in their lives?
1. What is this place?

It was already past sunset when the _Flying Dutchman _sailed into the harbor. The pale golden light of the setting sun was fading quickly. A cool, damp breeze blowing in from the west ruffled the man's white shirt and what of his unruly curls couldn't or _wouldn't_ be constrained by his faded green bandana. The air felt like rain. It actually looked like it could rain too, with the heavy dark clouds scudding the sky, but Will knew it was just a false promise - it never rained in this place. He hadn't noticed that odd detail during his first few months here, but then he began to miss it. Everywhere that he had ever lived had been the recipient of copious amounts of precipitation. There had been times in his life when he didn't think he could stand yet another rainy day, but now one would be most welcome – if for no other reason than to have a change of pace. Maybe tomorrow, when he returned home, it would rain. In the meantime, he would just have to be patient. As with almost every thing else, it was the only viable choice he had.

This was to be his last full day as captain – a position he eagerly anticipated handing over to someone else at sunrise. Right now, the most likely candidate for "someone else" was his own father -"Bootstrap" Bill Turner. As befitting his final voyage in the land of the dead, it had been one of the busier days they had experienced in quite some time. While there had been no major seafaring disasters that day, there had been several small boating accidents, some accidental drownings, assorted seafarers who had been buried at sea, and the unfortunate requisite deaths resulting from acts of violence. The Caribbean was a dangerous place to live.

As a result the ship had quickly filled to capacity requiring it to make port this evening. Had Will been given a choice he would have just allowed the ship to drift aimlessly while he waited for these last few hours to pass. Unfortunately, there was never any way to tell when there would be more souls to rescue, so Will and his crew had no choice but to deliver their charges as quickly as possible. And although he couldn't be positive, he was reasonably sure that crossing back to the land of the living with a ship full of lost souls wasn't the best of plans. For that matter, it was unlikely even possible.

Captain Will Turner stood alone on the forecastle impassively staring out at the ever darkening sky and water. This is where he always came when he wanted to be left alone. He liked the quiet and the smell of the salt air. It was _his_ place of solitude among the ship's solitude. No one save Bootstrap dared to disturb him there and then only in the case of a matter that could not be resolved without his input. After this many years guiding the ghost ship through the trackless seas, there were few things that couldn't be done without him. As Jack would have said, it made his presence aboard the _Dutchman _a bit superfluous. The only thing he was really responsible for anymore was telling the crew when they had souls to collect and where they would be.

The strip of beach where they delivered the souls was rapidly approaching on the horizon. Will has always imagined that the land mass was an overly large island, but in truth he did not know. Apparently no one knew. Few things, if any, in the land of the dead, followed convention. Time, distance, location, direction – _everything_- had their own rules and even then they were subject to change. In his entire ten years ferrying the souls of those lost at sea to this place he had never learned what it was called. He honestly didn't know if it had a name or not. Everyone aboard the _Dutchman _simply referred to it as "port." He only took it for granted that it was always the same place they had been before. Everything tended to look the same of this side. In actuality, all that really mattered was that this was the place that the souls in his charge disembarked and were sent on – some to their reward, some to purgatory, and some to far worse punishments. None of that was any of Will's concern, even if he had wanted it to be, – although he usually had a sense of what their ultimate destinations were. Mostly he chose not to think about it.

Off in the distance, still too far to see clearly, Will could make out the lights of the pilot boat sent to guide his ship in. Also barely visible was the flickering light cast off by the lanterns hanging from the lamp posts that lined the long pier. It was what was visible at the far end of that pier that always unsettled Will. So much so, that he always preferred delivering his precious cargo in the dark of night. It made it much easier for him to imagine what he saw was ordinary fog or something similar. He sighed with relief that he would be spared the unsettling daytime vista, on this, his last night as captain. He had enough things on his mind without thinking about that too.

For the first two years of his duty he assumed that everyone saw the same thing on shore. It was quite by accident that he learned otherwise -that every soul saw something different. For as long as he could, Will had intentionally kept his distance from those who had been placed in his care, but one small child had broken him from his self imposed isolation – a child of no more than eight who had been taken from his home against his will and later perished during a storm. He had been all alone aboard the massive ship - much as Will had also been once. For that reason and none other, Will had personally taken him in into his care. It was from that boy that Will Turner had learned what was truly at the end of the pier.

"_It's my home," the boy had said with wonderment in his voice. "We're back in Florida. It's Saint Augustine! Can't you see the Castillo?" The boy had stretched up on his toes to get a better view and then started to cry. "It's my mother! She's waiting for me," his voice breaking with sorrow. "That means she's dead too, doesn't it?"_

Will hadn't known how to answer the boy. It still pained him to remember the incident. It also bothered him that he had never asked the child's name. Until that very moment he hadn't know that those who had passed on could see an actual place and were welcomed there by their loved ones who had gone on before. From that point on, Will made a point to try to talk to the ship's passengers. He had not realized there was so much to be learned from them. The children were the hardest to deal with, so many of them had passed on before their parents - leaving no one waiting for them on this side. Will never knew exactly what happened to them once he left, but he had to believe they were well taken care of. Anything otherwise would simply be unthinkable.

Only slightly less difficult to deal with were the ones who didn't understand that they were now dead. Many of them disappeared from the ship before they reached their final destination. It was commonly said among the crew that those souls were the source of the numerous tales of ghouls and ghosts that were told throughout the Caribbean. Will had supposed that explanation was as good as any and considering what he had previously encountered in his life it did make some sort of sense to him. He often wondered what those that survived a shipwreck saw when the _Dutchman _would cross to their side in search of lost souls. Were they too the subject of ghost stories told around the islands?

Occasionally there were men, but inexplicably no women, who had no one left in the world they had left behind - or anyone who had gone before. It was not uncommon for them to opt to join the crew. Now that there was no longer the requirement that they serve 100 years, there had never been a shortage of willing volunteers to join the crew. As such, there had been a consistent turnover among the ship's personnel. When they were ready to pass on, Will allowed them that option. Other than Bootstrap there were only two or three of his original crew members left on board. Will hoped that would make Bootstrap's promotion from first mate to captain easier. Sailors were a superstitious lot and often didn't take well to change.

Will knew that all of his charges had lost just as much as he had, and in many cases more, but none of them were as fortunate as he was in that he had a chance to go back and start over. His greatest fear for the entire ten years was that he would one day dock the ship and he would find Elizabeth, his wife, waiting for him on this side. He had once had to choose between his wife and his father. He did not ever want to have to choose between her and their son. He knew his worry was totally irrational, but he could never quite escape it - at dawn, that worry would no longer be an issue.

The sound of the Harbor Master yelling directions at the crew pulled Will from his day dream. He picked up his spyglass to see if he could make out any of the people waiting that evening. He could recognize his mother from the dark brown dress that she always wore, but did not yet recognize anyone else. Normally, they could only be seen by the people they were waiting for, but every time they returned Will could see more and more of them. He had mentioned the anomaly a few times, but no one knew what it meant or why it happened to him and him alone. _Could it be because I am the only one here trapped between the living and the dead? Will Bootstrap be able to do the same once he takes over? _

They were still too far out to make out any details of the land behind the beach. Not that there would have been much for him to see. All Will had ever seen beyond the narrow strip of white sand was sort of a swirling mist. He couldn't even say for sure what color it was. If pushed for an answer he would have said gray, but that wasn't quite right either. It was as if something was about to come into focus for him, but never quite made it. He had noticed that as his charges passed into it, they completely vanished from his view. It might appear translucent to him, but it was, in fact, quite opaque. He could still remember the day, a little more than three years into his commitment, when he has asked his father what he thought was on the other side of the hazy barrier.

Bootstrap's eyes had narrowed with a lack of comprehension. "Glasgow," he said. "But I imagine you see Port Royal. That is where you're to meet Elizabeth, isn't it?"

Will turned from his father to look at the shore. "I don't see anything."

"I suppose that's because you've haven't died quite like the rest of us have. You see where you were happiest during your life. Yours isn't finished yet – _yours _has hardly begun," Bootstrap explained.

Bootstrap's answer had given Will a much needed boost of hope that day. It had been weeks since he had been able to see Elizabeth for even a moment, months since he had been able to touch her or talk to her. It was easy to convince himself that if he could not see where he had been happiest in life instead of the mysterious fog, that must mean he had not experienced that part yet. Surely that would involve Elizabeth and William.

"What about the people waiting on shore and on the dock?" Will had then asked.

"They're the ones you loved and loved you during your lifetime. They can sense when you've passed on and come to escort you on the remainder of your journey. I would have expected since you don't see a place that you wouldn't see the people either."

But Will did see the people and that did not make sense to him either. He had noticed both that Bootstrap hadn't looked him in the face when he answered and that he sounded guilty. Now that he thought about it, he supposed he should have noticed and long ago asked why some of the crew members, even his father, would frequently leave the ship and go ashore for as long as they could before it was time to head out to sea once more. It wasn't until Will mentioned the seemingly odd custom to one of the crew that he learned his own mother would often be there waiting for Bootstrap. At first, he was hurt by the idea that she had not wanted to see him too. She had raised him virtually alone. He was her only child. How could she wait so patiently for the man who had abandoned her and her son to go pirating, but not for that child too? Had he been more burden than beloved child to her?

And then one day, more than a year later, that had changed. Will had again been waiting on deck, gazing off at the nothingness at the end of the dock, trying to imagine what Elizabeth and William might be doing at that moment, when his father asked him to accompany him ashore. He had learned early on that as long as he stayed on the dock he wouldn't be violating any of the restrictions of his duty. Stepping onto the beach, however, would result in his being bound to stay in the land of the dead forever. And so he had silently followed his father down the gangplank and towards the shore. He hadn't gone more than twenty yards before she came into view. He remembered thinking how odd it was that he hadn't noticed her standing there before that, as he _had _been looking in that direction. But perhaps that was just another of the unusual way things worked here.

Margaret "Meg" Turner clapped both of her hands over her mouth and began to cry as soon as she saw her son. The last time she had seen him he had been a shy, albeit resourceful, somewhat gangly, eleven-year-old boy who idolized his absent father. It was hard for her to still see that boy in the tall, handsome, self-assured man standing before her. And yet there was no doubt they were one and the same person.

"Will?" she breathed, her voice barely audible – her dark eyes glistening with tears and the reflection of her disbelief at seeing him standing before her.

Will simply nodded as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his mother. She was much shorter than he remembered, but then again he was also much taller. He had never much paid attention before to her chocolate brown eyes and curly brown hair that so matched his own. Most notable to him was the fact that she was no longer deathly pale and rail thin from her long illness. He had taken care of her as best he could during her illness, but she still had died far too young. That tragedy had started Will on his path to where he was today and hopefully, where he would end up at dawn tomorrow.

As the two of them stood there, hugging each other tightly, Will rocking his mother back and forth, Meg crying softly, he noticed Bootstrap standing slightly behind Meg, staring at the wooden planks beneath his feet, hands clasped behind his back, shuffling nervously. He recognized the body language that spoke volumes about how much guilt Bootstrap was feeling at any given moment. Meg sensed something bothering Will – proof that a mother's instincts never faded and released her grip on him. She put one hand on each of his cheeks and tilted his face towards her. Her eyes were still leaking tears and now Will's threatened the same. He had always been close to his mother and still grieved her passing. It had never occurred to him that he would ever see her again.

Meg closed her eyes for a moment and softly sighed before reopening them to examine her son's face closely. Her eyes were sad, but she had a faint, consoling smile on her face. "It hasn't been more than a few hours, has it? I wouldn't have known yet if your father hadn't told me. I always hoped you wouldn't turn pirate too"

Will realized he had forgotten how much he loved listening to his mother's voice - the musical lilt of it making him think of her native Scotland. He remembered too, how, as a child, he had wanted to know why he didn't sound like her. Had not he been born in her home town of Glasgow? To his little boy way of thinking, the fact that the family had moved to London just a few weeks after his birth played no part in how his accent developed. He had always wanted to sound like his mother. Whether that was a result of how much he adored her or the consequences of a mostly absent father Will did not know. It certainly didn't matter now.

The words his mother had spoken slowly sank into Will's brain. His brow knitted in confusion. What she had said did not make sense to him. He cast his eyes over at Bootstrap, who was still studiously ignoring them, before looking back to his mother.

"Wouldn't have known _what_ if he hadn't told you? Only a few hours since _what_? I don't understand," he said, fearing all along that he did. Almost as an after thought he added sharply, "I'm not a pirate."

Now Meg glanced over at Bootstrap and frowned - an uneasy thought beginning to form in her head. She turned back to Will and looked at him with her sad eyes. "Don't you remember? You must have drowned or at least died at sea. That's why you're here. That's why you were brought aboard the _Dutchman_. It shelters the souls of those lost at sea until they can be brought here." The longer she spoke the more apparent it became to her that what was bothering Will had to do with his father's behavior - and little, if anything, to do with having died. The thought made her feel very unsettled.

Will brought his own hands up and covered his mother's. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I know," he said calmly. "I'm its captain." As the last word left his lips, Will suddenly understood the origin of Bootstrap's nervousness. All this time it hadn't been that his mother did not want to see him -she simply hadn't known he was on board the ship. Bootstrap obviously hadn't told her and since Will was technically immortal instead of dead, his mother had not been able to sense his presence.

"Bill," she said, her voice totally devoid of emotion. "Leave us. I want to talk to _my _son." Her dismissal of her husband was distinctly absolute and left no room for him to balk at her request. She hadn't even bothered to glance in his direction.

Will raised his head from his mother's hold and watched as Bootstrap wordlessly headed back towards the ship. He wondered why for all this time, nearly four years, his own father had never bothered to tell his mother that their only surviving child was aboard the ship. Was he afraid to admit to her the role he had played in Will's transition from deliriously happy groom to cursed, immortal sea captain? Did he not want to share what little time he had to spend with his wife - one that he had so sorely neglected while she was alive? Or was it his time with Will that he hadn't wanted to share? Either way, Meg's tone and demeanor made it clear that she did not want Bootstrap around at that moment. Bootstrap wisely chose not to argue.

Meg turned and walked over to a small bench built along the edge of the dock. Will was positive it hadn't been there before. Things appearing and disappearing like that was one of the many things that he found disquieting about this place. Meg sat down and motioned Will over. "Come, sit," she told him as she patted the seat, much as she had done when he was a small child. "Now tell me how you came to be here."

And so he had told her. He explained how he had left England to go to the Caribbean in search of Bootstrap. He told of the shipwreck and being rescued by Elizabeth. He confided in her how he had fallen in love with Elizabeth and she with him. They had been so very young then - and yet neither had realized how the other felt - nor had they ever believed they could be together. He related the story of how he had asked her to marry him – the first time - but entirely skipped the part of their story involving cursed pirates, another fiancé, and her father's disappointment that his only daughter had chosen to marry considerably beneath her station. He did not mention his fear that he had killed his own father by breaking the curse that had saved both himself and the woman he loved more than life itself. From that point the story grew harder for him to tell. He didn't relish the idea of reliving the memory of Lord Cutler Beckett arresting him and Elizabeth and sentencing them both to death during what should have been their wedding, but he did manage to reluctantly relate the tale - or at least most of it. He glossed over their trials and tribulations over the course of the next year, but happily told her of their impromptu shipboard wedding. He has stopped there, hoping that was enough, but afraid that it was not. .

Meg listened patiently and happily to the story of her son's life from the time she died until now, but the thing she wanted answered the most he had tried to avoid. She had to know and know she would - how had he died and how had he ended up as captain of that ship. Bootstrap had told her of the oath he himself had sworn to Davy Jones. He had also told her he had been freed from servitude by the new captain. He had even confessed that he was still aboard because he still felt he owed a debt to the man that had freed him. What he hadn't mentioned was that the new captain – the man quite possibly bound to sail the seas forever – was his own son.

"Will, you still haven't answered my question."

"Which question was that?"

"How you died?"

"I don't think you asked me that," Will said in attempt to again evade the topic.

"William."

He remembered _that_ tone of voice too. It was how she sounded just before he was about to be scolded for something. It occurred to him that, to her, he still was a child and not a grown man with a child of his own. He had yet to tell her of his son and wondered what her reaction would be.

"I don't think I'm actually dead. It's more like immortal - or at least for the time being it is."

"You're avoiding my question. Every one here knows of the mission that Davy Jones was charged with. We also know what happened to him when he stopped doing the job and cut out his own heart." The color drained from Meg's face as the final few words came from her mouth. Her eyes grew wide with fear as she put one hand over her mouth and the other on her son's chest where his heart should be – but wasn't.

Will pressed his lips together and stared over his mother's head into the distance. Normally it did not bother him any more to remember that his heart was elsewhere. He knew it was safe in Elizabeth's care – and always would be. He couldn't think of anything to say to his mother. It had never occurred to him that he would see her in the land of the dead and it most certainly hadn't crossed his mind that he would one day have to explain why his heart was somewhere other than where it should be.

"It's in the Dead Man's chest, isn't it?"

Will nodded, but still didn't look at her.

"Where's the chest now?"

Will looked his mother in the eyes and noticed she was, once again, starting to tear up. He swallowed hard and hesitated for a moment. "Elizabeth has it," he said softly.

"And the key?" she asked, as she removed her hand from his chest.

He nodded. "She has that too."

"And you trust her with them," she said matter of factly, as if it was something she had always known.

"Yes," he said confidently, but quietly, as was his habit.

"And you're sure she will be there waiting to break the curse?"

"They both will. I have _no_ doubts about that whatsoever."

"Both?" she asked, obviously confused.

"We have a son. His name is William," he answered, the pride evident in his voice.

"I'm a grandmother?" Her confusion quickly replaced by unbridled joy.

Will's face split into a huge grin. He had never thought of his mother in terms of being William's grandmother before. "I suppose you are. I wish you could meet him." The grin suddenly vanished from his face and his eyes grew sad, as reality set back in. "I wish _I_ could see him," he said sadly. "I've done the same thing to him that Bootstrap did to me. I never wanted that." He sighed and looked out at the water. He didn't want his mother to see how much that thought bothered him, but knew that no matter what he did, she would see it anyway.

"He had a choice. You didn't." Her voice sounded cold and emotionless when she spoke.

"He's trying to make up for it now," Will offered as he turned back to face Meg.

"Only you can decide if it's too late for that or not." The sadness in her eyes had been replaced with barely controlled anger and hurt.

"I know." Will stared into his mother's face for a moment. He had been too young to fully understand how much Bootstrap had hurt her and yet how much she still loved him – or at least he thought she loved him. Now he wasn't quite so sure. He couldn't ever imagine doing to Elizabeth and William anything remotely like what Bootstrap had done to him and his mother. Meg was right. Bootstrap had freely chosen to leave his family behind. Will had been forced to leave his wife and a child he hadn't know about. For the first time, he finally understood how different he and his father actually were. He had so many other things he wanted to ask her, but he was starting to feel the now familiar pull that let him know there were souls to be rescued.

"Mother? I have to go now, we have to go now. I have a duty to fulfill." He winced as he felt the tug pull harder. It wasn't painful, but it could be uncomfortable. Some days he thought he would never get used to the sensation.

Meg beamed proudly at her son. "I understand. We can talk more next time. I'll always be here waiting for you. Don't ever forget that."

Will felt like a small child again, basking in his mother's approval as he hugged her goodbye. He then leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. _Had she really always been this short? _ He turned to head back to the ship and noticed Bootstrap standing at the top of the gangplank watching them. He turned back around to his mother to ask her if she had any messages for him, but she was already gone – vanished into nothingness just as he had done the day he left Elizabeth.

The distinctive sound of wood scraping against wood as the gangplank slid into place on the dock snapped his attention back to the here and now. He heard footsteps coming up the steps behind him. He turned knowing that it would be Bootstrap.

"This is it. You can say your goodbyes. She'll be waiting for you."

"I know she will," he said with a smile as he headed towards his father and the steps down to the main deck.

"I imagine she won't want to see me today. Give her my best. I'm going to stay on board."

Will cocked his head to one side as he tried to make sense of what his father had said. Then it dawned on him. The "she" that would be waiting here was his mother. He had assumed his father's statement as referred to Elizabeth. As always, he had thought of her first – just as he should, just as he always would.


	2. Beginning the End

Elizabeth lay on her side in the big bed and stared at the French doors across the room. She could just barely make out the faintest hint of daylight peeking in around the edges of the heavy draperies. It was much earlier than she normally awakened—she had managed to develop the reputation for being a tad difficult to wake up in the morning. She honestly didn't care what other people thought of her habit—it was something she did intentionally. For, in those last few minutes before she was entirely conscious, if the conditions were exactly right, she was occasionally able to sense her husband. Sometimes she could just see him, other times she could only hear him, but there were also rare instances when she was able to manage a small degree of physical contact with him. Considering she had once believed she would not even be able to see him for ten years, those brief moments were sacred to her. It didn't matter if it was just long enough for a hug, a quick kiss or just a casual brush of their fingertips – she would fight for every chance she got.

Mrs. Turner knew she must have dozed off at some point during the night, but she certainly didn't feel like she had. She had tossed and turned the entire night wishing for time to speed up, but had only succeeded in making it feel like it had slowed down. Today was _the _day. It had long felt like it would never arrive—but it had. She had never doubted it would; rather, the closer it got, the more impatient she became. She had no real way of knowing, but she somehow could understand in her heart that Will was just as impatient. It wouldn't be too many more hours. This time, without threat of separation, the EITC, Beckett, arrest warrants, pirates, curses and who knows what else, they could be together again – forever.

Elizabeth reached out and lightly brushed her left hand across the undisturbed pillow and sheets on the opposite side of the bed, and wondered what the various housekeepers and maids, employed over the years, thought of her habit of keeping to one side. It certainly made the bed easier to make up every morning, and it wasn't as if her husband was going to unexpectedly make an appearance in the middle of the night (at least, not here.) It was a comfort to her to leave a place for him. Just knowing that the empty space rightfully belonged to Will created a sense of safety and security and that one day –_this _day he would return to it as if he had never been away. It also made it easier for her to imagine that he was there with her – but that was no one's business but her own.

For ten years she had both gone to bed and awakened alone. But, thankfully, that was about to end. Tomorrow morning when she awoke, Will would be there, lying next to her as he should have been now. For the rest of her life he would be the last person she saw at night, the first person she saw in the morning, just as it should always have been. She had waited ten years for that privilege, only to have it taken away from her on her wedding day. Elizabeth had known for the last decade what she would have to do to ensure that Will would be able to return to her - and had freely and _willingly_ done so. Nothing would keep her from completing her task now.

She pulled herself up to a seated position in the bed, drew her legs up close, and wrapped her arms around them. Resting her chin on her knees, staring at the armoire across from the bed without really seeing it, she began to contemplate everything she wanted to accomplish before sunset – a sunset she had been preparing for since the second Will left. Not a day had gone by that she hadn't thought about how she wanted to spend his first day back, but she had never spent much time thinking about what she would do while waiting for those last few hours to slowly and painfully creep by. Surely there had to be something that would distract her… But nothing was coming to mind.

She was relieved that she had not yet told her son, William, what was going to happen today. If Elizabeth could not contain her own excitement, enthusiasm, and impatience then how could she be expected to deal with that of a nine-year-old boy too? Especially one who had not interacted with his father in person since he was an infant? For all intents and purposes, the two were total strangers to one another. However, she felt certain that particular problem could be quickly and easily resolved.

Then, of course, there was the fact that she, William and the his father were going to have to learn what it was like to live together as one family. In all actuality, despite ten years of marriage, the two of them had never actually lived together as husband and wife. The rare occasions when they managed to spend some time together had never been more than a few minutes, never with any advance warning. The only option they had was to adapt to their unfortunate circumstances—and so they had. Losing hope was never an option. Hadn't Will said that no cause was lost as long as there was one fool left to fight for it? People could call her a fool all they wanted, but Will was well worth any fight.

Actually, and to be honest, the two of them were probably more familiar with each other's quirks and habits than most couples, having known each other since they were children. They had long been each other's best friends. But knowing someone and sharing a living space with them was not always one and the same thing. Even during their months living aboard the _Pearl _and various other ships, Elizabeth had been afforded what little privacy there was available. Will had taken up residence with the rest of the crew, being, as always, his sense of propriety and concern for Elizabeth's reputation directed his choices. Had Elizabeth been able to influence Will's choices in that regard, she would have long since welcomed him to her bed. But, then again, they had not been speaking during most of that time.

It was a time in their relationship that she would rather not think about.

Her eyelids slowly drifted closed as she thought of the time she and Will had spent together, before Beckett came into their lives. The faster their wedding day approached, the more diligently Elizabeth had tried to, somewhat naively and quite unsuccessfully, seduce her then-fiancée. Will had sworn he would not take any license with her reputation before they were properly married. If nothing else, he was a man of his word. She could still hear Will's slightly husky voice whispering in her ear. "_This is not the right time. This is not the right place. Our first time together will be in a proper bed, with fresh linens and perhaps candles even, but only _after _we are properly married. I won't have you in some secluded spot hoping we don't get caught." _He had always ended his declaration with the claim that Elizabeth's father would kill him if Will had crossed that arbitrary line. While Will's acceptance in Elizabeth's circle in her father's view was tenuous at best, she had always known Will was halfway teasing her. She was the first to admit that she had been a spoiled child. Her father had granted her every thing she ever wanted – and what she wanted most was Will.

But that didn't mean it would have surprised her if her father had insisted on moving up the wedding date if he suspected Will and Elizabeth had anticipated the actual ceremony a bit. Most especially, if he had ever suspected they had done anything that might even remotely be misconstrued as improper without benefit of clergy. Heaven knows they had been forced to sit through far too many sermons extolling the virtue of patience. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at that memory. She and Will had known full well that those particular homilies had been directed towards them. While the lessons had obviously not been lost on Will, they had grated on her nerves. She frequently felt that every citizen of Port Royal had been made privy to her father's fear for her virginity. Elizabeth was well aware of her own lack of patience when there was something she wanted – and she wanted to be married. Perhaps on some level her plan always had been to hurry things along.

All these years later, she could recognize that Will had made the right decision for them both. How could they have known that their lives were about to be torn apart at nearly the precise moment they should have been pronounced man and wife? After that, things had gone from bad, to worse, to near incomprehensible horror... She often wondered how their lives would have turned out had she and Will married before Beckett's untimely arrival. _Would things have been different? Or would we have still gone through the same trauma we had been forced to endure? Would it have still been necessary for us to reaffirm our choices to be together? Or would the knowledge that we were already legally bound to each other have compelled us to remain together more out of obligation than commitment? _

She pushed the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. Now was not the time to think about that. Besides, it was consummately pointless—especially today. They had been unerringly devoted to one for nearly half their lives by that point. It didn't matter that they had only been aware and secure in that devotion for one short year. Elizabeth was adamant in her belief that, although the path may have taken a different turn, they would have ended up together. Now wasn't a time to worry - it was time to rejoice in their chance for a new beginning.

Elizabeth smiled to herself as she thought of how she planned on spending this particular night. Who else had the opportunity to celebrate their wedding night a second time—a decade after the first one, no less? Honestly, she was a bit nervous: her first had been so long. But this time, Elizabeth could make sure everything was as Will had wanted it to be—what he thought she had deserved to have. The truth was that spending a honeymoon on a moonlit beach on an apparently deserted island might sound terribly romantic, but the reality of it was that sand didn't make for a very comfortable bed. Not to mention that it has an annoying tendency to find its way into the most unlikely places.

The rudimentary plans for her day were just starting to form in Elizabeth's mind, when she heard a soft click. She reopened her eyes, raised her head, and looked to find the bedroom door easing open. A petite, olive skinned girl with glossy black hair cascading down her back stepped into the room, carrying towels and a pitcher of water for the wash basin. Eyes the color of midnight briefly reflected their surprise at finding the mistress of the house awake at this hour.

"Good morning, ma'am," the girl said shyly. Her slight accent brought to mind the scent of orange blossoms, images of windmills, and the sound of guitars from her native Spain – or at least the part of it Elizabeth had seen. "I trust you slept well?"

"Good morning, Mercedes. I suppose I slept as well as could be expected." She rested her chin back on her knees.

"There's nothing amiss, is there?" The girl truly sounded concerned. Had it not been for Mrs. Turner, who knows where _she _would be now?

"No," Elizabeth replied, perhaps a bit too brusquely. She immediately regretted it. Mercedes was a tender-natured girl, and tended to take things personally. "No," she repeated in a much softer voice. "I'm just a bit distracted this morning is all. I have several things to take care of today, and I can't seem to remember what all of them are."

"I have days like that. I think most of my days are like that. Evan has to remind me sometimes what I need to do," she agreed in her usual cheerful tone. She obviously had not been bothered by Elizabeth's initial curt reply. Mercedes turned from Elizabeth and began taking care of her task, filling the wash basin while Elizabeth thought of Evan.

He would know what today was. He had been there the morning after Will left, and every day since. He had arrived with Captain Teague and others when they had come to take her back to Shipwreck Cove. No one knew for sure how old Evan was at the time—all they knew was that he was the sole survivor of an attack by the _Flying Dutchman_. But he couldn't have been much older than her son was now. They had somehow agreed upon eleven–Elizabeth supposed that would be an appropriate age for an apparent-orphan to sign on as a powder monkey aboard a pirate ship, especially one as small and agile as Evan Ross.

It wasn't as if she hadn't encountered much the same thing before. Because of that similarity to Will's own situation as a child, Elizabeth had felt sorry for the boy: she had taken a liking to him and had taken him under her wing. He had been her near-constant shadow ever since, almost like a little brother she had never had. Some days, it was hard to imagine that the uneducated urchin who had been constantly underfoot, was now the quite competent and polished twenty-one-year old man who worked for her now. It was almost uncanny at how closely Evan's upbringing had paralled Will's. He had known from the start the truth behind Will's absence, and had never once uttered a single word about it. Someone that young, with such a well-developed sense of loyalty, was a rare commodity. Evan's finer qualities and abilities were not underestimated by the members of the Turner household… by Mercedes in particular.

"Is William awake yet? He has lessons with Mr. Tolliver this morning," Elizabeth inquired.

"No, ma'am. Not that I know. I'll go wake him up, if you like."

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the open door into the hallway as she considered her options for a moment. Mercedes was the one who normally tapped on William's door every morning to wake him up, but today was a special occasion. She was suddenly overcome by an urgent _need _to be with her son – asleep or not. "Actually, I think I'll do that myself," she said as she slid out of the bed and pulled on her wrap over her night dress. "I have a surprise for him today, and I want to make sure he knows not to go off on one of his little excursions this afternoon." She rolled her eyes at the thought of the numerous reasons he always gave for _needing _to go off on one adventure or another. She might have to take the blame for that particular aspect of his personality, but it wasn't as if his own father were entirely innocent in the matter either.

Mercedes' eyes twinkled as she laughed at Elizabeth's statement. "He is getting harder and harder to find these days, isn't he?"

Elizabeth began to laugh too. "_That _would be putting it mildly. I can only imagine what might happen if he truly decides he doesn't want to be found. I just hope today isn't that day. He might find himself left at home, because I certainly can't be late today." Elizabeth experienced an uncharacteristic rush of giddiness at the realization that her and Will's seemingly unending series of ordeals would finally be over. In just a few hours they would be together and she would let nothing get in the way of that – not even her own child.

"Late? Have I forgotten another engagement?" Mercedes looked puzzled and slightly panicked. There was nothing she hated more than forgetting to make the proper arrangements and preparations for Mrs. Turner's schedule. She knew that Elizabeth wouldn't turn her out in the streets, she had all but adopted her, but still she knew how much her mistress valued efficiency – or rather, how impatient she could be.

"Oh no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. No, it's a simple family matter. William and I can take care of everything by ourselves." Elizabeth headed out the door of the bedroom into the hallway. She stopped just across the threshold and turned back to Mercedes. "I know it's not part of the household schedule for today, but could you change my bed linens, please?" Elizabeth took two more steps before once again stopping to speak to the girl. "Why don't you take an extra day off tomorrow? You've certainly earned it—surely you have some friends you would like to visit?" Elizabeth then turned and continued down the hall to her son's room.

Mercedes nodded in confused acknowledgement. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Now she _was_ perplexed. First, she found Mrs. Turner awake and alert at the break of dawn, and then there was yet _another_ of a seemingly unending list of strange requests she had been making more and more often in the past few weeks. Add to that the fact that, while Mrs. Turner was a most gracious employer, it was not in her nature to just randomly give people a day off in the middle of the week. There was something most curious going on, and Mercedes was dying to know what it was. Perhaps Evan would know? She too left the room, closed the door behind her, went off to address her next chore and, hopefully, to find some answers.

It would certainly be easier if she knew the right questions, but those, too, were a mystery.

Elizabeth gently opened the door to her son's room, hoping to avoid its inevitable squeak. It was still a bit early to wake him up—that gave her the perfect opportunity to just sit beside and watch him sleep, something she had done with unfaltering regularity since his birth. Elizabeth sat on the bed, next to her son, taking care to not disturb him. He was curled up in his customary position with one arm under his head and the other across his chest. Elizabeth reached out and gently stroked his hair, marveling yet again at how it was the exact same color as his father's although nowhere near as curly. William's long, dark eyelashes fluttered briefly, those too a gift from his father, but he did not wake up. She knew that when he did awaken, she would see a pair of chocolate brown eyes matching the pair she had gazed into so many times before and soon would again. She wondered if Will would be able to see how much his only child resembled him. She smiled as she remembered that she _would_ have the answer to that question before the day was out.

She looked around the room. To anyone else it would seem to be filled with the detritus standard to any nine-year-old boy's room. Upon closer inspection, it would appear quite different. The tiny tin figurines were not the soldiers one might expect, but incredibly detailed miniature pirates, buccaneers and other rapscallions. Elizabeth knew, if she looked at them closely, she would be able to pick out ones she knew. The ones that William also knew were ensconced on a low shelf, over his desk, next to a near perfect replica of his father's ship. This was obviously a location that he considered a place of honor – Mercedes wasn't even allowed to dust up there. William took care of that himself. On the floor, undeniably locked in battle, were two replicas of the _Black Pearl, _one large, one small. Will's ship, along with the smaller of the two _Pearls_ had been gifts from Jack Sparrow. William had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had inherited his father's sense of diplomacy when Jack had presented them to him. He had never once mentioned, or even hinted at, the fact that he already had a much larger and much more detailed model of the _Pearl_ - one that had been a gift from curmudgeonly Captain Barbossa.

Elizabeth looked back at her still-sleeping son. It was taking all she had to not wake him up and tell him what the day had in store, but she knew it would be less stressful on everyone if she held her tongue for now. She leaned down and gently kissed his cheek. "It's time to wake up," she whispered.

William mumbled in his sleep while curling himself up tighter. His face was now completely buried in his pillow.

Elizabeth knew he was at least partially awake, but as usual, he was trying to sneak in a few more minutes. In that respect he took after his mother. She had sometimes wondered if he too could sense his father in the fading twilight of sleep. Sometimes he did say things that made her believe he could, but for some reason she thought it best not to question him about it.

"William, I said it's time to wake up," she whispered again. But this time, she added to her arsenal by tickling him on his side just above his waist – a place she knew would also get a reaction out of his father. She knew she had achieved her desired goal by the bell-like sound of childish laughter now emanating from the vicinity of the pillow.

"Mother! Don't do that!" William flipped over and pulled the covers over his head.

"Then wake up when I tell you."

"But it's too early to get up," he whined playfully – his muffled voice coming from beneath the quilt.

"I'm up, so you can get up as well. Besides, I need to talk to you before your tutor comes. I have a surprise for you today."

"What is it?" Will asked anxiously as he popped up in the bed.

"If I told you, then it wouldn't be a surprise now would it?"

"Then why did you tell me you have a surprise for me if you won't tell me what it is?"

"_Because I want nothing more right now than to tell you," _she thought. Instead she said, "So that you would hurry up and get out of that bed! Now, get up and get dressed. It's a special day and I have a lot of things to do." With that, she stood up and left the room.

William swung his legs over the edge of the narrow mattress and watched his mother leave. She certainly had been acting a bit unusual lately – or at least unusual for her. No one would ever accuse Elizabeth Turner of being like other mothers. And what kind of a surprise could she possibly have for him that required him to get up this early? The thought crossed his mind to go right back to sleep as he looked at his pillows. The nagging fear that his mother might renege on his surprise was the only thing that prevented him from doing so. He shrugged his small shoulders, stood up and went about the task of washing up and getting ready for the day.

Elizabeth too returned to her room to wash and dress for the day – or at least dress for the first part of her day. For days on end she had examined every dress, skirt and blouse in her armoire, trying to decide what to wear to meet Will. All of her life, special occasions had warranted the addition of a new bit of finery to her wardrobe. Today was unquestionably one of the more special days of her life, but she felt a bit silly having something special made. It wasn't as if she had much need or desire for fancy dresses anymore. Besides, the only days she could think of that could even remotely compare to this one were the day she had married Will and the day their son was born. She hadn't even had a dress for her wedding, nor had she cared at the time.

She exhaled sharply in frustration as she gave up her search, grabbed the nearest serviceable dress at hand and hastily put it on. While hurriedly running a brush through her hair and tying it back with a bit of blue ribbon, she returned to the bedside table and the locked wooden chest that rested on it. As was her custom, she ran her hand softly across its lid and over the elaborate lock. The key that opened that lock was hanging on a plain leather cord around her neck, but she would never have dreamed of using it. Knowing what was inside was simultaneously comforting and horrifying to her. She sighed as she listened for the faint, but strong and steady beat of the heart inside. "_It's always belonged to you,"_ he had said to her moments before he left. "_Will you keep it safe?"_

She had kept her promise, just as Will had kept all of his.


	3. Unexpected Guests

Will stood at the top of the gang plank, facing the long pier leading to the beach and the mists beyond. He stared at the gathering crowd of souls come to escort their loved ones on the rest of their journey. As he had long come to expect, his mother was there waiting on him. In his mind, he mulled over the curious fact that he was both overcome with sadness, and yet completely elated, at the thought of what was to come. He would once again have to bid farewell to his mother for an untold number of years… but his long awaited _and_ anticipated reunion with Elizabeth was close at hand. It struck him odd at how many events there had been in his short lifetime that had simultaneously elicited such extremes in emotion. Surely that wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

The light breeze from earlier was beginning to pick up into an outright wind. The air felt unusually damp—it was far cooler than anything he had ever experienced for this time of year. He briefly considered returning to his cabin to retrieve his coat, but decided against it. It was a little on the chilly side for his tastes, but not entirely uncomfortable. Will glanced up and noticed the clouds continuing to gather. They were now distinctly thicker than before, but had not, as yet, obscured the full, pumpkin-orange moon that commanded a significant portion of the night sky. He felt the skin on his arms tingle with a charge he commonly associated with lightning. He thought it odd that he had not noticed any. It was certainly not the kind of thing he was prone to miss. It may never rain here, but thunder and lightning were not unheard of. Will found the unusual combination, or perhaps lack of, certain weather conditions more than a little puzzling.

Will quelled his curiosity about the meteorological curiosity as he continued to watch his charges make their way ashore. Some practically ran down the gangplank as they recognized long unseen family members and rejoiced in unanticipated happy reunions. Some were more hesitant as they disembarked, for they had either not yet seen any one waiting for them, or were unsure of their final destination. And still, there were a few who slowly shuffled down the gangplank and down the pier, knowing that where they were going was not a place of peace and solitude and that there would never be anyone who wanted to see them. At first, Will had felt sorry for those souls, but had since come to accept that they were now paying for the choices they had made in life. He sometimes liked to imagine that Cutler Beckett had been one of those shuffling souls. If any man deserved a seat in hell, he was certainly the one – if not for what he had done to nearly destroy Will and Elizabeth's lives, then for all the innocent people he had, directly or indirectly, murdered in his quest to control the seas.

Will's eyes followed the last of the souls as she made her way down the pier and disappeared into the mist. Now the crew members who wanted to lay aside their commitment to the _Flying Dutchman, _and move on to the other side themselves, lined up on the deck. Most times there weren't any, but tonight there were two. Will was not surprised - for one of them had discovered his wife among those that had been ferried this day and the other had found life at sea not to his liking. The whole process of the crew members requesting their release was merely a formality. Who was Will to say no? He had been counting the days until he regained his freedom for ten years now. If anyone understood the desire to leave the ship behind it was Will Turner.

The next to disembark were the crew members who wanted shore leave to visit with any family they might have. It appeared as if Will would be the only one to take advantage of the opportunity tonight. Aside from Bootstrap and himself, that left six remaining crew members unaccounted for. Will recalled that three of them had just joined the ship on their last voyage in. That normally indicated that they had no one yet to wait for, thus making it unlikely they would want to go ashore. Two of the men were unaccounted for and had therefore missed their chance.

The one remaining was an enigma and had been for years. The man had joined the crew shortly after Will became captain, and had never once in that time even hinted at a desire to leave the ship. He was, at least in Will's opinion, the most unusual addition ever to his crew. There was no doubt that the man was an accomplished sailor, he had been one in life, but he was not the sort of man that Will would have expected to voluntarily serve aboard the _Dutchman–_and most especially not under Will's command.

Will turned back towards the ship and surveyed the deck searching for the missing men. The only man visible was the one who had most recently been on his mind. The sailor in question was seated straddled across a barrel, not more than ten yards from where Will stood, his long legs nearly dragging the deck. He appeared to be totally oblivious to his surroundings as he sat hunched over, repeatedly stabbing a small knife into the wooden lid. Will thought it odd that he would be there now, as he and Will tended to avoid each other as much as possible—they seldom ever spoke, except for the most cursory of topics or direct orders. Yet, there he sat. The man smirked as he realized Will was watching him. He lifted his head, stared back at Will and raised his eyebrows as if daring his captain to say something.

Will was not in the mood to take the bait – if indeed he was being baited (it was sometimes difficult to tell.) He didn't offer any reaction, but, instead, turned back towards the pier, took a deep breath, and headed down the gang plank to say his final goodbyes.

Meg was waiting in her customary spot, more or less halfway between the ship and the shore. A now-familiar, proud smile emerged from her lips as she observed her son's approach. This was a meeting she had looked forward to and dreaded from the day they had been reunited. The thought that Will would soon be rejoining his own wife and child filled her with gladness—but there was still that one, tiny selfish part of her that did not want him to leave. However, nothing would ever make her admit that to anyone—most especially to Will.

She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders against the chill in the air, and nervously smoothed down her skirt for at least the thousandth time, while, in the process, rechecking her pocket to see if the gifts she had for him were still there. Meg understood how unusual _and_ fortunate it was that she had been granted the opportunity to pass along these precious heirlooms to Will and his family. It has always been her intention to pass them along to her children. She certainly had never expected for Will to be her only child nor had she ever thought she would die so young and leave him in such dire circumstances. Life wasn't always fair, but on rare occasions some higher power made up for it.

Will nervously chewed his lower lip as he walked down the pier towards his mother. It was a habit from his childhood that he had, for some unknown reason, revived. It was now full dark and the flickering lanterns lent the dock a mystical and somewhat eerie quality. It also made it more difficult to see very far. Will had no idea what to say to Meg, and yet, at the same time, had so many things he still wanted to tell her. While their time tonight was not as limited as it frequently was, and he instinctively knew there would be no more souls to retrieve this night, he did not want to chance being late for his most important rendezvous. He had to be careful to not spend too much time here, and yet he did not want to miss a single minute with Meg. It made him uneasy to think that the next time he saw his mother, it would be because he really had died. He sincerely hoped that day was far away yet – he had so many things he still wanted to do, and just as many he wanted to make up for. However, his face broke into a full-fledged grin as soon as he spied her, and she remained standing, unmoving, as he quickened his pace to close the gap between them.

"Will!" she cried cheerfully as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

"Mother." He hugged her back, leaned down and kissed the top of her head, noticing, as he did, that she still smelled of the cinnamon and fresh baked bread of his childhood memories. All these years after she had died, those two scents never failed to evoke happy memories of her.

Meg put her hands on his shoulders and studied his face intently. She had done the same thing to him as a child. Then, he had hated it, but now he didn't seem to mind so much. Meg narrowed her eyes as she looked into his. It felt as if she literally could read what was going on in his head, just by peering into his eyes.

"You look happier than usual this evening," she said, pronouncing the results of her evaluation.

Will wrinkled his nose at his mother and grinned – that too another childhood habit he had long abandoned, but had now resurrected. "I am!" he declared as he picked his mother up and spun her around.

"William! What has gotten into you?" Meg tried to sound stern, but failed miserably. She was obviously amused by his actions.

Will set his mother back down and put his hands on her cheeks just as she frequently did to him and flashed her yet another huge grin. "I'm going home," he announced excitedly. "In the morning – I'm finally going home."

Meg reached up and patted one of his cheeks – something she had used to do when he was a little boy and had gotten excited about something. She also broke into a huge grin, but with a hint of sadness reflecting in her eyes. "I know—I've known for quite some time now." Her grin faded, but she still managed a smile. "I know that means this is my last chance to tell you everything I ever wanted, and my last chance to find out the answers I need."

Will crinkled his eyes in confusion. "What answers?"

"How it happened."

"I had hoped you had forgotten about that," he guiltily confessed. He had successfully managed to evade the topic for years, but now it had apparently caught back up to him.

Meg pulled herself from her son's embrace and sat down on the bench that only seemed to appear when she wanted it too. Once again she patted her pocket to check that its contents were still there. She gave Will her best "do what your mother tells you" look and gestured to the space next to her on the bench. "Will, I suggest you accept the fact that there are some things a mother never forgets. The same goes for wives–I have a feeling it might make your life easier in the near future," she proclaimed with a twinkle in her eyes. "Now, I want – no, I _need _to know how it happened." This time there was no doubt that she intended to obtain the information she sought by whatever means necessary.

Will sat down next to her. He gripped the forward edge of the bench with each hand so hard that his knuckles turned white. He sat totally still and gazed down at his boots for a few moments as he collected his thoughts. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath before looking back at his mother.

"Davy Jones ran me though – here," he said quietly as he reached up and lightly tapped the scar towards the upper left side of his chest. "We were on the _Dutchman. _I think he pierced a lung – I'm not sure. I just remember the pain, and how I didn't want to die – that I didn't want to leave Elizabeth."

Meg noticed how his voice broke towards the end of his statement, as he returned his hand to its death grip on the edge of his seat. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, if for no other reason than that his obvious discomfort was unsettling to them both. But she knew she could not rest until she knew. She had never confessed her secret to Will, but part of why she hadn't long ago moved on was because she had never come to terms with leaving him behind, or knowing what had become of her husband. It would have been so easy to just tell him the truth. She had no doubt that he would have willingly told her what she needed to know so that she could move on, but she also knew him well enough to know that he would feel responsible for her having been stranded here. And he had suffered far too much already for her to add to his burden.

Will stopped for a moment and stared out at the water as he tried to regain his composure. He had never once, in the ten years since the whole incident had taken place, spoken of his death to anyone. He couldn't bring himself to look at Meg once he continued his story. "Jack had the heart. We had decided that he would stab it and take Jones' place. That way Bootstrap would have been released from his obligation while Elizabeth and I would be free to be together, but….." his voice broke off – the memory of that event was obviously taxing to him.

"Jack? Jack _Sparrow_?" Meg's voice was horror stricken.

Will's eyes widened at his mother's question. _Did she too know Jack?_

"Yes," Will confirmed. "Do you know him?" His confusion and curiosity would have been clear to anyone who might have been eavesdropping, but, fortunately, there were no such people around at the moment. He was normally quite adept at controlling his reactions to unexpected turns of events, but this one had seriously caught him off guard.

"I would say I know more _of_ him than actually know him. It doesn't matter—please continue." Meg reached over and covered his right hand with hers. She was fighting to retain her own composure now too. She had expected the tale to be hard for her to hear, but she had never imagined it to be this difficult. Surely there were no higher powers that intended for a mother to listen to a first hand account of her only child's pain and suffering not to mention his untimely "death." It had been easy to convince herself that Will's obligation to the ship was retribution for some imagined slight against the heathen gods that controlled the sea. A wave of apprehension and fear washed over her as she prepared herself for what Will might say next. She also hadn't expected to learn that Jack Sparrow had been involved. A knot formed in her stomach as she wondered how was it that the elusive Captain Sparrow always seemed to be connected to any difficulties the Turner family encountered.

"But Jack didn't stab the heart, did he?" Meg asked softly.

"No," Will sighed. He wanted to know more of what his mother knew of the self proclaimed illustrious _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, but he knew he needed to first finish his account of the day he had become captain of the _Flying Dutchman. _He took another deep breath and resumed his tale. "Bootstrap held off Jones while Jack helped me to do it. I didn't have the strength left to do it myself. I was dying." Will's normally calm demeanor was slowly, but surely, returning. He turned his hand over and grasped his mother's tightly in his, as he turned back to look her in the face. "I couldn't leave her. We had waited for each other so long, and had overcome so many obstacles just to be together, I couldn't do it. We had to take the chance that we could break the curse. We had been married for under an hour."

Meg drew in a startled breath as the knot in her stomach tightened. Bootstrap had told her that Will and his wife hadn't been married long before they were so cruelly parted, but she had just assumed it had been a matter of days or weeks. The idea that it had been mere minutes was almost unthinkable. She knew he often mentioned how much he regretted missing his son's birth and so much of his childhood, but she had never once considered the possibility that he had not even known of Elizabeth's pregnancy when he had to leave. She now realized that not even Elizabeth would have known. Meg clearly remembered how difficult and painfully lonely it was to raise a child alone. Bootstrap had left to go pirating by his own choice - abandoning her to raise Will on her own. His actions were the direct cause of her plight – so she had, at very least, somewhere to direct her anger and frustration.

No matter how emotionally painful her own situation had been it could never compare to what Elizabeth was expected to endure. According to Will she had no living relatives – or at least none that were close. Will was all she had. Had Elizabeth even _wanted_ the child she was raising alone? Again, the way Will talked about their son led Meg to believe that the answer was yes, but certainly neither of them would have chosen to start a family under their peculiar circumstances. Meg also had the freedom to take her son and move on if she had so chosen – Bootstrap may never even have known or, for that matter, even cared. Elizabeth didn't have that liberty. She obviously knew what the consequences for Will would be if she did anything other than wait faithfully for his return. Will's quiet confidence in his wife choices spoke volumes about their relationship. His reaction alone led Meg to believe that Elizabeth had never once waivered about her decision. Meg's heart went out to the young woman that she had never met nor would never know. She also now knew that she could move on if she chose—assured that Will had chosen wisely when he gave Elizabeth his heart–both in terms of his undying love for her, and trusting her to keep safe the one in the Dead Man's Chest.

"If she is but half as devoted to you as you are to her, then I can accept you going back and be happy for you–for both of you. Although, I won't lie and say I won't miss you terribly." It was as close as she would ever come to giving her approval to the path he had chosen in life. What mother couldn't help but to be completely nonplussed at the idea of her only child choosing to have his own beating heart cut from his chest and then chance spending eternity in the land of the death–and yet be neither dead nor entirely living? Will had done what he felt he had needed to do. She couldn't exactly argue with him about it now.

"I just need to know one more thing," Meg ventured.

Will winced internally. He knew what was coming and had hoped to never have to tell his mother what she still pursued to know.

"Did you cut out your own heart like Davy Jones?"

"No," Will answered softly.

"Then who did?"

"Bootstrap."

"WHAT?" Meg looked horrified, entirely expecting the answer to once again be Jack Sparrow. "How could he do such a thing?"

Will did not answer his mother. In fact, it seemed as if he had not heard her—his eyes flashed suddenly with panic, quickly narrowing in shock and then widening in surprise. His expression slowly morphed into a narrow-eyed mask of confusion with one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Meg had never seen Will look so completely perplexed. She noticed that his gaze had shifted to a point over her right shoulder, further down the pier, but had no idea what he could have seen to have caused such a reaction. She shifted her position on the bench to turn around and see what or _who_ could have so quickly diverted his attention from her.

The only other souls currently on the pier were an older man with a significantly younger woman at his side. They were obviously a couple. They were standing some twenty yards away – locked arm in arm, the woman frequently glancing up adoringly at the man while lightly patting his arm in reassurance. Meg could only assume that he was her husband. She couldn't say for sure, but she got the distinct impression that the man was uneasy about something. Being here? Seeing Will, perhaps? Were they awaiting someone who they had not found?

Meg restrained her rampant curiosity and refocused on trying to figure out who these people were. It was difficult to make out their features at this distance—even with the full moon and dozens of lanterns lining either side of the pier. But Meg could see that the man was wearing one of the white wigs so common among the upper class of British society. Meg judged him to be a few inches taller than Will, but much older – possibly by as many as thirty years. He was dressed in an elegant, deep yellow, brocaded waistcoat and matching coat over breeches the exact same shade of yellow. His exquisite white silk shirt and cravat appeared costly and well made, on his feet were the knitted silken socks and shoes with shiny metal buckles that many men commonly wore. Whoever the man was, he must have been quite important in life.

The woman was wasn't overly tall, but she was most definitely taller than Meg. Truthfully, most people were taller than Meg's petite 5'2." It was difficult to discern her age at the distance they were, and with the shortage of light, but Meg would have guessed her to be considerably younger than her husband. She realized, of course, that was quite possibly just Meg's perception of her, and might have not been the case when she had been alive. She was wearing an incredibly beautiful ivory satin dress trimmed in what had to be several yards of delicate white lace – even her slippers were of the same color satin. Her dark blonde hair was pulled up and artfully arranged on her head. She wore what appeared to be a pearl choker around her slim neck. Matching earrings dangled delicately from her ear lobes. She was quite easily one of the loveliest women Meg had ever seen.

Meg turned back towards Will and noticed he was still staring quite intently at the couple. His face remained devoid of expression as he nodded to them in acknowledgement. Meg halfway believed that if she just disappeared at that very moment that he would perhaps not even have noticed. She did _not_, however, have any intentions of trying it. Whoever they were, Will obviously knew them, or at least knew who they were.

"_Will_?" she hissed sharply in an attempt to regain his attention.

Will blinked once or twice before emerging from his daze and refocusing on his mother. He offered no explanation for his reaction to the other couple on the pier, he simply looked as if he expected her to already know the answer to her as yet unasked question. That was all the proof Meg needed to verify that the couple were somehow significant to him, as _she _was the one with all the unanswered questions–or at least she assumed that was the case.

"Will, do you _know_ them?" she gently inquired. She couldn't imagine how he possibly could be intimately acquainted with people who were obviously of a much higher social class than the Turner family had ever been, or had ever really aspired to be for that matter.

Will's eyes shifted to look at the man and woman again before looking back at his mother.

"Yes – I," Will paused. "I mean, no. I mean—I know _him_, but I've never met her. I've never seen her. She died…" he stammered.

In the few years that Meg had been able to visit with her son between voyages, she had never once seen him quite so unnerved. She didn't really need or want one more mystery to solve before he went back to where he belonged, but Meg's curiosity was bound to get the best of her. She couldn't help it. It was just how she functioned.

"Who are they?"

"She looks so much like her," Will whispered in awe, his attention drawn, once again, to the other couple—most particularly to the woman.

Confusion compounded Meg's curiosity to the point it was almost unbearable. "She looks like _who_?"

Even as the words came out of her mouth, she realized. Meg twisted around suddenly to stare open mouthed at the woman. She didn't care if it appeared rude–for this was a most unexpected turn of events for the evening. She knew she had no hope of ever meeting Elizabeth, but now she would at least have a similar face to put with the name. The realization that the man must be Elizabeth's father slowly crept into her consciousness. Things were starting to make sense to her now and at the same time become more confusing. Will had mentioned, almost in passing, that Elizabeth's father had not approved of him as a suitable match for her. Meg had assumed, wrongly it seemed, it was because of his uncertain parentage. They had assumed him to be an orphan, after all. It had never crossed her mind that Will had married so far above his station.

"Are those Elizabeth's parents? Who _were_ they?" Meg asked, sounding every bit as stunned as she truly was.

He directed his attention back to his mother. "Yes. That's Governor Swann and his wife. Or, at least, I assume that's who she is. I thought she was Elizabeth when I first saw her. It startled me," he confessed.

"I noticed," his mother replied with raised eyebrows. "What's her name?"

Will looked up towards the sky with a serious expression on his face. It was quite apparent that he was desperately trying to locate some scrap of long unused information. He lowered his face back to level with Meg's and shook his head.

"I don't remember exactly. I seem to recall Elizabeth mentioning that she had a title, but I just don't know," he shrugged his shoulders and sighed in frustration.

"William Turner, what do you mean? You don't know your own wife's mother's name? What were you planning on calling her? Surely I taught you some manners!"

Will looked stunned. He hadn't expected anything remotely like the minor scolding he has just gotten.

Before he thought, he shot back, "What did it matter? I wasn't planning on ever meeting her. She's dead–just like everyone else in this place."

Meg winced at his outburst then exhaled sharply in amusement. "I think we can safely say your tendency towards rash behavior was a gift–or curse as the case may be–from me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound like that," he responded, truly sounding remorseful.

"It was nothing," she said, and meant it. Meg offered him a faint smile by way of apology. "Now, think."

His brow furrowed in concentration as he struggled to recall anything else he knew about his long deceased mother-in-law. His eyes suddenly lit up. "Josephine. Her name is Josephine. I remember now: Elizabeth said that if we ever had a daughter that's what she wanted to name her. I don't think she ever considered that I might want to have a say in the matter. She wasn't very happy when I told her I didn't like it," he smiled and laughed as he spoke, obviously enjoying the memory.

"That would be a lovely name," Meg offered, all the while picturing a prim, proper and perfectly behaved little girl with dark brown curls like her father's. She quickly banished the vision from her mind. Meg knew Will's personality quite well. And if Elizabeth was indeed anything like he—or Bill—had described her, a child like that would never exist. Meg imagined something more along the lines of a decidedly tomboyish granddaughter who pulled her hair up under a hat and wore breeches whenever she could get away with it, a girl who terrorized her older brother with a wooden sword, a child that as soon as she was old enough to speak would modify the overly fussy name to something much less sophisticated and more piratey sounding – something like Sophie… The image made Meg chuckle to herself.

"What are you laughing at?" Will both sounded and looked perplexed.

Meg shook her head. "It's nothing. Just something that crossed my mind. Now – don't you think should go talk to them?" She gestured toward the Swanns with her head. "They are your in-laws after all. I'll wait for you. I've waited this long, what's a few more minutes?" She reached up and dusted some nonexistent dirt from Will's collar. He did look like a pirate—there was nothing she could do about that now. She stopped herself and pulled back her hand before it began to look like she was fussing over him like she was about to send him off to his first day of school.

Will leaned forward and kissed his mother's cheek. "Thank you. You're right," he admitted.

"I told you to never doubt a mother's word. I know of what I speak," she said only half jokingly. "Now, go!"

Will stood up and brushed his hands on his breeches. He wasn't exactly nervous, but he wasn't entirely relaxed either. He drew a deep breath and began his walk down the pier towards his wife's parents wondering why they were here and what they could possibly want with him.


	4. Where to begin

Down the stairs, out the door and to the kitchens she went in search of Mrs. Lansford. The idea that everyone in the household would play some role in the preparations for Will's arrival amused Elizabeth, especially as no one other than herself, and possibly Evan, knew what was supposed to–what was _going _to happen that evening. She could hardly remember the last time she had been this light-hearted and easily amused. She happily anticipated many more days with the same carefree attitude.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lansford!"

The tall, gray-haired, and slightly plump woman jumped at the sound of Elizabeth's voice. She had been so intent on the numerous projects she had going that she had not heard her mistress enter the tiny building. Actually, she could only recall a few rare occasions when Mrs. Turner had even been in the kitchens—it was a place she tended to avoid at all costs. Equally startling was the abnormally early hour for Mrs. Turner to be up and dressed. She wouldn't swear to it, but Mary Lansford thought Elizabeth sounded unusually cheerful this morning. Her behavior the past few weeks had noticeably differed from what the small household staff was accustomed to. It wasn't that she was a difficult person to get along with, but there had always been a vague sense of sadness surrounding her. However, this morning, she was practically glowing.

"And good morning, to you too, Mrs. Turner. What brings you out here this morning?" Mary struggled to keep her voice from sounding too accusatory. The kitchen was her domain—she was admittedly somewhat territorial about it, and Elizabeth knew that better than anyone. Mrs. Lansford was probably the one woman in the world who could intimidate Elizabeth Turner. It wasn't so much her personality as the fact that Elizabeth was often left in complete awe of her household skills. If the truth be known, it wasn't that Elizabeth had never had any interest in learning to run a household, but that she was completely inept at it. Her talents obviously lay elsewhere.

"If it's not too much bother, I was hoping William and I could have chocolate this morning instead of tea." Elizabeth's voice took on a tone much like that of a child asking her mother for a treat.

"I think that can be managed." Mary gave Elizabeth an indulgent smile. She rather enjoyed spoiling Elizabeth and her son. "Will there be anything else?"

"Raisins – and cinnamon. If we have any."

"I suppose that means I'll need to be cooking some oatmeal?"

"Please? It's a special day," Elizabeth implored.

"Every day should be special," Mrs. Lansford reminded Elizabeth – her clipped accent making her sound as if she had just stepped off the boat from England rather than having lived in the Caribbean for nearly forty years.

Elizabeth smiled as if she had a secret no one else knew—truthfully, she did. "You're quite right. I promise that from here on out I will do everything in my power to make every day count to the fullest." With that, she turned and went back into the house.

Mary Lansford stared after her for a long while, perplexed at Elizabeth's attitude and response. While she was not an overly superstitious woman, she would have sworn that she could feel something in the air. Something was going to happen, and whatever it was, would happen soon. Of that, she was sure.

Evan Ross wasn't overly tall, but he wasn't exactly short either. His long auburn hair was neatly tied back to keep it out of his way as he worked. He was in the midst of splitting wood when he noticed Mercedes' quiet approach from the corner of his eye. He stopped what he was doing and turned to watch her. His face was expressionless, but a smile glittered in his emerald green eyes. He was happy to see Mercedes, but would never dream of telling her that. "Don't you have something else you should be doing right now?" he asked her, as he set up another log to split.

"Of course," she replied saucily. "In fact, I have _extra_ chores today."

"Then shouldn't you be doing them?" He picked up the maul.

"I will. I have time. I wanted to ask you about something," she asked, as she up righted one of the logs to use as a perch. Evan stopped mid-swing, looked at the girl, and raised an eyebrow. Mercedes took it as an invitation to continue – no that she required an invitation to speak her mind. "Have you noticed that Mrs. Turner has been acting a bit – odd - lately?"

"_Excuse me_?" Evan was appalled that she would even dare mention such a thing, much less ask about it. He lowered the maul to his side.

"Oh! Don't pretend you haven't noticed. Something has had her distracted for weeks, and then this morning she was up before dawn _and _quite cheerful. _You_ know how much she doesn't like getting up early. Besides that, she gave me an extra day off tomorrow. I got the distinct impression that she would rather I not even be home."

"What makes you say that?"

"She suggested I go visit friends."

Evan shrugged his shoulders. "I guess whatever she has planned for tomorrow, she doesn't want you around." He again hefted the maul in preparation to split the log.

"But this is where I live, too!" Mercedes said crossly.

"Only by her good graces. If Miss Elizabeth wants you to be out tomorrow, I suggest you do it." He pounded the maul into the log with all the force he could muster. A resounding crack echoed from the piece of wood as it began to split.

"You're no help at all, are you?" Mercedes was beginning to whine.

"How so?" Evan's curt response and raised eyebrows let the girl know exactly how out of place he felt her complaints to be. He raised the maul to prepare for another blow.

Mercedes understood Evan's unspoken rebuke and changed her tone to something more civil. "I thought you would know what has her acting so strangely. You've known her longer than I have. What is it? Ten years now?"

_Ten years. Has it really been that long? Is today the day Captain Turner would return? _"Mercedes, do you know what the date is?" His task of splitting wood now completely forgotten.

"It's Tuesday," she replied, sounding every bit the proper lady she tried hard to be.

"Not the _day_, the _date_ – _la fecha_," he added in case she had misunderstood.

"I espeak English, fine," she announced, her accent suddenly getting thicker, as it always did when she was upset or angry. Her command of English grammar was the next thing to go when she got mad. "Is May twenty-fifth or maybe twenty-six. I no know."

"Think, Mercedes! It's important," he pleaded, wondering why every conversation with her turned into the most insignificant disagreement.

Mercedes chewed her bottom lip as she tried to figure out the date. She was just about to surrender when she heard a familiar voice from behind her.

"Good morning, Evan. Is Mercedes being kind enough to keep you company while you work?" As if Mrs. Turner's behavior this morning hadn't been peculiar enough already, now she was wandering around _outside—_before breakfast even. It was rare for her to leave the house for anything, at least, not until William's lessons were over.

"Yes, ma'am. She was just trying to help me figure out today's date, and then she was going right back to work. Weren't you?" he said sharply to the girl as he looked from Elizabeth to Mercedes and back to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth stared him straight in the eyes. "It's May twenty-fifth."

Evan nodded almost imperceptibly. She had obviously overheard their conversation, and now he was sure he was right. Today _is _the day—but if Miss Elizabeth wanted Mercedes to know that, she would have told her. Mercedes stood up from her makeshift stool, nodded to her mistress, shot Evan an annoyed look through narrowed eyes, and stalked back to the house.

Elizabeth watched her go before turning back to Evan. "It would appear that you have an admirer, Mr. Ross," she laughed.

"I don't think so. She stays irritated with me for one reason or another." He looked down, noticed the partially split log he had abandoned and recalled that he had been working before Mercedes had interrupted him. Again, he raised the maul preparing to finish the job.

"Trust me: she likes you. I recognize the signs." Elizabeth smiled, as if remembering some private joke.

Evan looked at Elizabeth disbelievingly, shook his head, and decided to switch topics. "I suppose I need to double up on my tasks today too? I assume that I will be a persona non grata tomorrow too." He swung the maul. A low thump sounded as the two halves of the log separated from each other and fell to the ground.

Elizabeth sat down on Mercedes' recently vacated seat and nodded to Evan. "I just want it to be the three of us tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect. It felt like today would never come, now it feels like today will never end."

"I understand completely." Evan abandoned his task yet again. "How did William react?"

"I haven't told him yet," she admitted.

"Probably a wise choice," Evan agreed with a laugh. "I wouldn't want to be the one to keep him occupied all day if he knew. The excitement alone would be practically unbearable for him."

"It already is for me." Her eyes twinkled in amusement.

"I can only imagine. I have to say that I'm quite anxious to meet him myself," Evan confessed, suddenly serious.

Elizabeth beamed. "You'll like him. He's quiet—it takes a while to get to know him, but I think he'll like you too. He's grateful for all you've done for William and me."

Evan's forehead wrinkled in confusion. He looked perplexed at best.

"He knows about you. I told him–just bits and pieces really. We never knew how much time we would have when we saw each other. I'm afraid we tended to focus our attentions and conversations elsewhere," she said, her smile still unfading. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her dress. "I would guess that William should be heading down for breakfast any minute, so perhaps I should go back inside." Elizabeth took a few steps towards the house, stopped and turned back to Evan. "You know I consider you part of our family, don't you? That's not going to change."

Evan smiled and nodded. He knew that, but it was reassuring to be reminded of it. "I know," he said. "You just take care of being where you should be at sundown, and I'll take care of everything here."

"I never had any doubt that you would. Thank you."

Elizabeth turned from him and went back to the house. Once inside, she went to the study for paper, a pen and some ink. Normally, she would have sat at her writing desk and made her list of things to accomplish for today, but today she didn't. She returned to the dining room and took her customary seat at the head of the table, her back towards the staircase. It occurred to her as she sat that this would be the last day she would occupy this particular spot. If everything went as planned, by tomorrow she would have seceded her temporary role as head of the family to its rightful holder. Not that there would ever be an issue of her husband expecting her to be subservient, but sometimes she wished there were someone else around to take charge when she didn't want to. They had both learned a very difficult lesson about learning to make their choices together. Elizabeth didn't see any reason for that aspect of their relationship to change now.

As she began making her list, she heard the unmistakable sound of her son's footsteps coming down the staircase. He was the only person who ever took care to avoid the lone squeaky step near the top. She wondered if he would ever realize that his avoidance of that step gave him away more than actually stepping on it ever would.

"Go right back up those stairs this instant and brush your hair," she declared with motherly authority without ever once turning to look at her son. The footsteps immediately stopped, reversed direction and retreated back to the second floor of the house. Elizabeth smirked as she wondered when the day would come that he called her bluff, but as of yet, that had never happened.

She was still sitting at the table, tapping the pen against the polished oak surface, trying to organize her seriously scattered thoughts, when William returned. He plopped down in his chair, put his elbows on the table and stared at his mother. Elizabeth was so lost in her deliberations that she didn't notice him. Nor did she notice Mrs. Lansford come in with their breakfast until she set her bowl in front of her. Elizabeth literally jumped.

"Mother?"

"Hmmm?"

"You always tell me I'm not allowed to read at the table. Shouldn't the same apply to you working?" William pointed this out while perusing the somewhat better than normal offerings for his morning meal.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and looked at her son and wondered if other mothers had to deal with children with such a strongly developed sense of fairness and equality. She knew he was just like her in that respect. Every time he pointed out some real or imagined injustice she could hear her own father's words echoing in her ears "_One day, Elizabeth, one day, I hope you have a child just like you."_ Governor Swann had been granted his wish. Elizabeth still wished he had lived long enough to know he had a grandson, but she wasn't going to worry about that today. Today was someone else's day to meet the boy just like himself – only this one with a serious dose of his mother's personality thrown in for good measure.

"You're right. I'm sorry," she admitted.

"What's the occasion?"

"Pardon?"

"Breakfast," he said, gesturing at the food on the table.

"We always have breakfast," she answered with mock sarcasm. "I just felt like something special today."

William looked at her quizzically. She truly was acting a bit unusual today. His attention returned to his breakfast. He scooped up a large spoonful of oatmeal and examined it closely. Raisins – it had raisins in it today –those were always a special treat. Uncle Captain Jack always referred to them as humiliated grapes, but William didn't think they looked quite so humiliated now that they had been cooked into his breakfast. Granted, they had not been restored to anything like their former glory as grapes, but they didn't seem all that sad to him. He dropped the oatmeal back in the bowl and began to lazily stir it.

"William? What are you doing? Eat your breakfast."

"Are you trying to bribe me so that I'll take a bath today?"

Elizabeth started laughing. "That wasn't my intention, but now that you mention it, yes, you _will _be having a bath this afternoon"

"I thought you said I was getting a surprise this afternoon. Baths are NOT good surprises."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I said, "this evening," and a bath isn't your surprise, but you _will_ have to take one to get it."

William dropped the spoon into the bowl and put his hands on his hips. "What kind of surprise requires a bath?" he asked in mock disbelief.

"This one," she answered with a smile. Her voice turned serious. "Now eat your breakfast. You want to grow up big and strong like your father, don't you?"

William looked back at his bowl of oatmeal, picked up the spoon and started to stir it again. Elizabeth watched him while she ate her own breakfast. Something was bothering him—she had an idea what, but she certainly didn't want to bring it up now. Not this close to the end.

"I don't have one, do I?" the boy asked softly.

Elizabeth looked at her son for a second, she wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about, but she was afraid that she did. "You don't have a what?"

"A father. That's what everyone says."

"Of course, you have a father," she sighed. She would be glad to be free from this type of conversation with her son.

"He really is dead, isn't he?" William looked away from his mother and stared out the window.

Elizabeth had lost count of how many times they had had these conversations. She knew if she looked closely at his face right now, she would see tears just starting to form in his eyes. She had never actually seen him cry, but she had heard him, just as she was sure he had heard her on occasion. The older William got, the more frequently these types of questions came. When he was younger it was easy to reassure him that his father was alive and would return to them one day, but the questions seemed to get harder every time. She always felt a twinge of guilt telling William that his father was not dead, when, strictly speaking, he technically was. He just wasn't dead in the traditional sense. But what point would there be in trying to explain that to a child? She wasn't sure she understood it entirely herself, but she still felt as if she were lying to her son.

"No, he's not dead. He's coming back. I promise."

"You told me he would be back before my tenth birthday." He turned back to his mother.

"He will," she reassured him. "And may I point out that you are just barely _nine_?" She noticed she had been right about the tears; his eyes glistened faintly from the few that he had not managed to contain.

"I'm nine and one quarter," he proudly announced.

"Oh, I'm very sorry. I must have forgotten. You're practically a grown man now. Promise your mother you won't go off and leave me while I still need you," she said with a laugh.

William looked at his mother for a moment, and then giggled, his question about his father apparently forgotten. "I still don't want to take a bath."

"Sorry, you can't talk your way out of this one. Now eat."

The pair of them had hardly finished their meal when Mercedes came into the room. "Ma'am, Mr. Tolliver is here for William's lessons."

William scrunched up his face in distaste. Elizabeth glared at him, but kept the smile on her face. She felt the same way about the tutor, but thought it improper to share that with her son.

"Please show him into the study," she said to the girl without looking at her. "William, go get your books."

"Yes, ma'am." He slowly got up from the table and shuffled towards the stairs, expecting to hear his mother's usual admonishment to hurry up. Today she didn't say anything. She too rose from the table and headed to the study to talk to his tutor.


	5. Meeting the Inlaws

Weatherby Swann, formerly governor of Jamaica, watched anxiously as his would be son-in-law approached. He had always had great respect for Will–even when he was still a child. The homeless orphan they had rescued from the wreckage of a pirate attack had worked diligently to carve himself out a place in Port Royal. It had been at Elizabeth's insistence that the boy had been allowed to attend lessons with her. The Governor, her father, had thought the whole idea utterly incomprehensible–not to mention improper, but had relented because of some incomprehensible sense of responsibility for Will. Mostly, however, it had been to appease his much doted upon daughter. Over the past few years, Weatherby had often wondered how their lives would have unfolded differently if he had, just that one time, denied her request.

Will never once took his eyes from Weatherby as he walked the short distance between where Meg waited and where the Swanns stood. There had been a time when he would never have dreamed of being so forward with Elizabeth's father - Will had always taken great care in showing him the respect he deserved – he did, after all, have the final say in whether or not Will and Elizabeth would be allowed to marry. Will's curiosity as to why and _how _Weatherby was here on this particular day was about to best him. An uneasy feeling crept over him as he struggled to maintain his composure – his face betrayed none of the anxiety he was beginning to feel. He wondered what Weatherby's reaction would be to everything that had transpired since his murder at the orders of Cutler Beckett.

Will had never been openly defiant with his prospective father-in-law - he had no real reason to, but he had learned to stand his ground with him–most especially when Elizabeth was involved. Her father had made it perfectly clear, on more than one occasion, that he never had, and never _would_, consider Will to be an appropriate match for his only child. A lesser man would never have been able to endure the conditions, restrictions and pressure that had been involved in gaining–and maintaining, the Governor's approval to marry his daughter – to have Elizabeth's father withdraw his blessing would have been disastrous. Will had often wondered what the end result would have been had Elizabeth had not been so single minded about what she wanted. How could they have known that her unwavering devotion would ultimately release him from his current fate?

As was his habit when dealing with personal affairs, Weatherby Swann's emotions were plainly displayed across his features. It was immediately clear to Will that he was deeply disturbed about something, and perhaps a little annoyed too. His expression did nothing to alleviate Will's concerns.

"Governor Swann, Ma'am. Good evening," Will said respectfully, giving the couple a small bow. He then turned to the woman standing next to Weatherby. "Ma'am, I'm afraid I must admit I've forgotten how to properly greet a lady of your station. It is not something I've had much practice with. Please forgive me if I appear unnecessarily rude," he added.

"Mr. Turner, may I present to you, my wife, Elizabeth's mother, Lady –"

"Weatherby!" the woman cut him off mid introduction. "There's surely no need for such formality–most especially now." The rebuke was mild, but she clearly meant what she said. She turned to Will and flashed him a radiant smile, the same smile Elizabeth always had when she saw him, the same one he hoped to see very soon. "You _must_ be Will! I understand you were my daughter's fiancé?"

"Yes," he answered slowly, as he again nodded his head. He noted her curious description of his connection to Elizabeth. Did she not know they were married? Will successfully managed to avoid any hint of his confusion to show on his face.

"I don't think it would hurt if you called me Josephine. I certainly don't see much need for titles here," she proclaimed and yet still offered her right hand for Will to kiss as if this were a formal introduction at a ball.

Will took her hand and kissed the back of it, noticing the perfectly manicured nails. He remembered when Elizabeth's hands had looked like that. The last time he had looked at hers carefully they had been as short, cracked and dirty as his own had been. Somehow he didn't think her parents would exactly approve of where a life with Will had led her. But Elizabeth was a grown woman and had made her choices freely.

"You stabbed the heart," Weatherby interjected accusingly.

Will snapped his head towards Swann, as he slowly released Josephine's hand. Although it was getting harder to do so, he still managed to keep his emotions and reactions in check. How could he realistically expect anyone to understand the inner turmoil that he had experienced and in many cases still was experiencing – the unparalleled joy of marrying Elizabeth followed immediately by the horror of dying; the unfairness of being separated from her and their son for ten years; the regret he suffered when he considered how differently things could have gone if they had just resolved their misunderstanding sooner; not to mention the anxiety and anticipation of being reunited with her and William in just a few short hours. It was almost more than Will himself could process – much less someone who did not, nor would ever, know the entire tale.

"She loved you, and yet you chose to stab the heart instead. You chose immortality and to sail the seas forever–and for _**what**_?" The agitation in Weatherby's voice was duplicated on his face.

"For us. So that we could be together." Will drew a deep breath and stared Weatherby directly in the eyes. "I was dying," he said numbly.

Josephine gasped audibly, but said nothing. She glanced from Will to her husband and back again. Will briefly returned her gaze, again struck by how much his wife looked like her mother – most especially in the expression that was now on her face. It was the same one her daughter got when she was piecing together seemingly random fragments of information. He couldn't say why exactly, but Will sensed that he had just inadvertently gained an ally.

"And so you stabbed the heart to avoid the inevitable?" Weatherby was quickly moving beyond agitated to outright angry. "You left my daughter behind knowing that you were neither dead nor alive? She had no one left. Had you just died she might have moved on, or gone back to Norrington, or married someone who could protect her, or anything, but you didn't. You selfishly chose to leave her with wasted hope and no family to speak of," he sputtered.

Will remained calm as he continued staring at his father-in-law, allowing the accusations to bounce off him, and as he did so, it occurred to him that neither Swann knew any of what had happened past the point of Weatherby's murder. It also began to slowly sink in with Will that, for once, he held all the cards as far as Weatherby Swann was concerned. Being his wife now comprised a far larger part of Elizabeth's identity than being the Governor's daughter, but they obviously did not know he and Elizabeth had married - as they had intended, albeit _not_ as they had planned. How much should he tell them? Would there be any point in giving them all the details? Their only concerns were for their daughter's safety and happiness–two things that Will would never, under any circumstances, neglect. And yet Elizabeth's parents—or at least her father—could not, or chose not to, see that.

"Norrington is dead. He died aboard the _Dutchman._"

"Murdered?"

"Helping Elizabeth escape." Will realized he had not entirely answered the question, but he did not think it in his best interest at the moment to mention his own father's role in the Admiral's demise.

"And where were you? Why weren't you helping her?"

"I didn't know where she was. I was trying to negotiate for our freedom aboard the _Endeavor_."

"From _Beckett_? Even _you _should know he's not to be trusted."

"And Jones, yes." Will chose to ignore the implication that his attempted negotiations had been a tactical error. There was still so much that Weatherby did not, nor would ever, need to know.

"And so you stabbed it to spite Beckett?" The accusatory tone was still there, but the anger seemed to have faded slightly.

"No, not then. It was later, on board the _Flying Dutchman_, during the battle. The details don't matter now, they can't be changed."

"_Battle?_ You endangered my daughter's life in a battle. What did you expect to gain from that – other than your own death and possibly hers?!"

Josephine again spoke up. "Weatherby," she said, keeping her eyes on Will. "I'm sure there's a good explanation. _Our _daughter has a good head on her shoulders. You yourself told me how proud of her you were, _including _her choice in who she wanted to marry. Were not your exact words 'He's a good man—loyal, dedicated, and devoted to our daughter. He stands up for what he knows is right and isn't bound by the conventions of society. He's kind and clever. When he says that he would die for her, I honestly believe he means it literally. I can't imagine any man loving her more.' This _is _that same man, is it not?" she asked, in a tone that no one would dare question, while gesturing towards Will.

Weatherby broke off the staring match with Will and looked at his wife. His lips were pressed tightly together in disapproval of her outburst. Will was unsure if it was because she had interrupted her husband's tirade, because she had apparently sided with Will in all things concerning Elizabeth, or because she had revealed something that Weatherby had never intended for Will to know.

"Josephine, my love, he has to spend eternity ferrying souls to this place. He can never return to her and yet, I know she would be willing to wait for him forever if she had to. I can't bear the thought of her all alone in the world, with no family to speak of."

"That's not entirely true," Will interrupted. "I'm only obligated to ten years. I can return to her, if she'll still have me." _And if I had ever had any doubts that she would be waiting, I wouldn't now. Even her father recognizes that. "_Actually, I only have a few hours remaining here. I return to the other side at dawn – sunset for them."

"That would explain the weather," Josephine said as if she had been privy to some private information all along.

"Pardon?" Will and Weatherby said at the same time.

"The _weather_. It _is _going to rain. It only does that here when a soul returns to the living. Near drownings only get a small drizzle, but returning after ten years on this side? That is quite the occasion!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight.

"Darling, that makes no sense," said Weatherby, discounting her explanation completely.

Will did not react at all. After everything he had seen in his lifetime, Josephine's tale made as much sense as anything else. And there was the matter of the unusual lack of precipitation here. He belatedly thought of Calypso and her power to control the weather. She was indirectly responsible for his having been put in this predicament. Was it possible that the upcoming storm that Josephine was so sure of was her way of acknowledging he had completed his obligation? She had most certainly conjured up a major storm during the event that led to his being here. He was positive there was no way to ever know for sure so he put the thought out of his mind.

Josephine sighed in annoyance, rolled her eyes and addressed her husband. "Think of it like spring. Everything dies in the winter—and then come back with the rains in the spring. It kind of works like that here. I seem to recall something about green lightning on the other side too."

"The green flash," Will offered, glancing towards her–noting that her hair was actually lighter than Elizabeth's and her eyes had a more golden tone to them.

Weatherby shifted his gaze between them and looked at them both as if they had gone completely around the bend. "And how do you know this?" he inquired disbelievingly.

"That's right! The green flash," she said to Will, her eyes sparkling the same way her daughter's did when she confirmed that she was right about something. And yet all the while ignoring her husband's reaction to what she was saying. She turned back to him. "Weatherby, I was here for quite some time before you arrived. I investigated every way possible to go back," his wife explained what, to her, was perfectly obvious. "Mark my words, come dawn it will begin to rain here," she looked at Will. "I suppose that will let us know you made it," she said happily.

Will smiled at the thought of Elizabeth doing much the same thing her mother had. Had she not spent the last ten years trying to arrange ways for them to be together, even if it was for just a few minutes at a time? He wondered if she realized how much like her mother she was. He would certainly make a point to tell her if she didn't.

"Will?" Josephine asked. "You referred to, 'them.' Who is with Elizabeth?" She sounded both hesitant and hopeful in anticipation of Will's answer.

"_Our_ son," he replied, taking his cue from his mother-in-law. He had quickly assessed that it annoyed her greatly when her husband referred to Elizabeth as "_my _daughter."

Josephine clapped her hands together with delight. "What's his name? What does he look like? How old is he? Weatherby, do you know what this means? We have a grandson!"

Weatherby dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. He did not look pleased. "At the cost of your daughter's reputation and standing in society? Associating with known pirates was beastly enough without adding a child born out of wedlock too." The man was so distressed he could not even bring himself to look at Will.

"His name is William. Elizabeth says he looks like me, but I've only seen him a few times – when he was hardly more than an infant. He turned nine this past March – March third to be exact," he said to Josephine with a proud smile before turning to Weatherby. "I gave you my word concerning Elizabeth when I was sixteen and again when you granted us permission to marry—I keep my promises. We _did_ marry, aboard the _Black Pearl_. It's been ten years ago now," he added softly, staring out at the dark water–happily remembering that moment of unequaled joy while pushing away the memory of what happened to them minutes later. .

"You don't mean to say that, that, that _Jack Sparrow _performed the ceremony?" Weatherby stammered. He sounded nearly as appalled as he had been at the thought of Elizabeth bearing Will's illegitimate child.

"No, it was Captain Barbossa," Will said as he redirected his attention to his in-laws. He thought better of telling Weatherby that he and Elizabeth had for all intents and purposes performed their own ceremony – Barbossa had merely officiated. Now was not the time to give Elizabeth's father grounds to contest the legality of their union.

"I thought he was dead, killed by Jack Sparrow on Isla de Muerta?"

"Does it _matter_?" Josephine interjected. She clearly was not quite so regulated by propriety as her husband – yet another similarity she had with her only daughter. "They're just as married as they would have been had the ceremony taken place in a church. They share a child. Starting tomorrow they will also share a life. It's what we wanted for her. It's what _she_ wanted for herself. Perhaps it's not exactly as any of us imagined, but it's still the same thing! Can not you _please _be happy with that?" she pleaded.

Weatherby looked startled. His demeanor quickly switched to remorseful. He looked at Will and could for once see him for was he once had been and for what he now was. The gangly and undernourished twelve-year-old child they had pulled from the water. The sixteen-year-old boy on the verge of being a man, who had listened passively and wordlessly as it was made perfectly clear to him that he would never be more than a blacksmith and that Elizabeth was destined for better things, therefore it was now exceedingly improper for him to have any further contact with her. The twenty-year-old young man who had been nearly struck speechless by the beautiful woman she was becoming and yet had fearlessly charged in to save her life–repeatedly, with no apparent regard for his own safely. The twenty-one-year-old would-be groom who had done everything asked of him, no matter how trivial, in order for a chance to make a life with the woman he loved above all others. And finally the thirty-two-year old man who now stood before him with his steely gaze and quiet intensity that spoke of his undying devotion to that same woman all these years later.

A very humble and much relieved Weatherby offered his hand to Will. "Please, accept my apologies. I've only ever wanted what was best for her – what would make her the happiest. Isn't that what any parent wants for their child?" Weatherby paused for a moment before continuing. He could not tear himself from Will's gaze with its look of acute determination. "I can see now that she was right about you. She saw what I couldn't or just chose not to. I should never have doubted that she would choose well and choose wisely. Please, forgive me," he said almost shamefully, while all the while having no doubt that Will would forgive him. It was the kind of man he was and always would be.

Will accepted the handshake and nodded in acceptance of the apology, but did not respond. What was there that he could say, really? He wondered if he and Elizabeth should ever have a daughter if he would be this protective of her. Something gave him the feeling that he would. And for that reason, if no other, he could accept Weatherby's treatment of him this evening and when he had been younger. Being a parent now himself obviously put things into a much different perspective.

"How much longer before you have to leave?" Josephine asked gently.

Will broke off his gaze with her husband and looked at her for a moment. He then turned to look behind him, where his own mother waited patiently for him nearer the boat. As he turned the open neck of his billowy white shirt shifted to reveal both the scar over his heart and the black leather cord with its eclectic collection of odds and ends that was ever present around his neck. Upon facing back towards Elizabeth's mother, he noticed her staring in astonishment at his chest. He quickly pulled the edge of his shirt back over the scar. He had had it for so long now that he tended to not remember it was there. Josephine's unabashed stare made him uncomfortable. He worried that she either did not know or had not realized that her son-in-law was, quite literally, heartless.

Will took an involuntary step backwards as Josephine reached towards him. Much to his surprise _and _relief she acted as if she had not noticed the angry red scar, but instead was focused entirely on his necklace. She too took a step – towards Will. He leaned back from her slightly as she gently and almost reverently plucked at two of the trinkets dangling from the cord. She had _not_ randomly selected her target.

"Did she give you these?" Josephine asked somberly as she contemplated the single ivory pearl and tiny silver horseshoe Will had tied into place on his necklace. Under normal circumstances the pair of talismans were hidden by his shirt. Will had secured them so that they lay close to his heart – or at least close to where his heart should have been.

"Yes, she was wearing them both the day we were to be married, before-"

"Before, it was unexpectedly interrupted," Weatherby interjected. "It's from the necklace I gave you on our wedding day, Josephine – the pearl is that is. I do believe that William here made the horseshoe for her? To sew into the hem of her dress, was it? I believe it was supposed to bring them luck or some such thing."

Will could only surmise that Weatherby had not told his wife much, if anything, of what had happened to interrupt their original wedding. No matter how curious he was, he certainly didn't have the time to stay and find out what her mother knew or believed. He had far more important things to tend to in the next few hours.

"Yes, I made the charm for her. She gave them both to me for luck when I had to come here. I plan on returning them both to her – soon," he smiled as he again thought of how little time there was left to wait before they would be together again.

"Then she must have the set," Josephine declared as she reached up to her ears and removed the pair of pearl earrings she wore.

Will had not noticed that they matched the necklace Elizabeth had, although he had known it had belonged to her mother. Then again, it wasn't the kind of thing he was prone to notice either. He held out his hand to accept the delicate jewels from his mother-in-law.

Josephine folded his fingers over the earrings and patted his hand.

"Elizabeth will know what to do with these when the time comes. If she questions you, tell her to think back on what I told her when she was a little girl."

Will had no idea what she meant by that, but he also knew that questioning her further would have no effect. He looked from Josephine's hand on his up to her face. She had the strangest smile—he could not decide if it was one of happiness or sadness. He put the earrings in his pocket as he glanced over his shoulder to his mother then back to the Swanns. Time was growing short and he was becoming increasingly certain that Josephine's prediction of a storm of magnificent proportions was true –whether or not Calypso was behind it. He needed to go – and soon.

"I must go now," he said, struck by the sadness that washed over him. He had never known this woman and certainly had never seen eye to eye with this man, but he felt the loss at leaving them behind.

Josephine stepped towards him again, stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him on each cheek. "I know I do not need to tell you this, but as a mother I have to say it. Take care of them. Love them and let them love you," she whispered, then stepped back from him.

Weatherby looked at a loss for words. He was again having trouble looking Will in the face. He dabbed his forehead with the crumpled handkerchief again and sighed heavily. "Tell her – tell her she was right. Tell her I'm – _we're _proud of her."

He then offered Will his hand again. As Will took it, Weatherby grasped it with free hand also and smiled – it was one of the few times Will had ever seen him do that.

"Whatever you do, do _not _allow her to raise our grandchildren as pirates!"

"I promise or rather, I promise to _try _and keep that from happening." Will answered with a laugh. "Goodbye," he said as he turned to head back towards Meg, his last farewell to her, and his final voyage as captain of _The Flying Dutchman. _


	6. Promise of a Surprise

Ivan Tolliver was sitting at the double sided desk, arranging his materials, when Elizabeth entered the room. Although she knew he was the best tutor available in Port Royal, and performed his job exceeding well, she had an extreme distaste for the man. She could never decide if it was because his lack of a personality, his freely expressed, self righteous opinion of how he thought she should raise her son, or just the fact that he looked somewhat – odd. He was extremely tall and bone-thin. His salt and pepper hair formed a somewhat sparse wreath around his perfectly round head. His face was narrow and pinched with a few lonely hairs growing over his upper lip in a vague semblance of a mustache. His eyes were of an indiscriminate color and appeared quite owl like magnified behind his thick, round glasses. In short, he was both an unattractive and unpleasant man.

"Ah, Mrs. Turner. I need to speak to you about young Master Turner," the tutor said in his nasally voice.

Elizabeth gave him a pleasant, but forced smile. Mr. Tolliver always greeted her that way Never with, "Good morning," or, "How are you?" but always with some real or imagined complaint. She wondered what it was this time – something William had neglected to complete to his satisfaction? His perceived shortcomings of her parenting skills? _What?_ Elizabeth released an audible sigh before she responded.

"I'm quite sure you do, but I have something I need to speak to you about first." That was sure to annoy him. In Ivan Tolliver's version of an ideal world, women took directions, they did not give them. "William and I have a prior engagement for tomorrow. I would like to cancel his morning lessons and reschedule them for Thursday afternoon if possible. I know you do not have another student then," she added for good measure, just in case the man balked at her request.

Mr. Tolliver blinked in astonishment several times. It always unsettled him when Elizabeth took charge of a conversation. It didn't matter that she always did when speaking to him; it still caused him great distress. "I, well, I," he stammered before regaining a soupçon of his composure. "I feel that would be most unwise under the circumstances. I'm afraid I cannot allow it," he said in a squeaky voice, with a vain attempt at sounding authoritative.

"Circumstances?" Elizabeth asked sharply. The man had already put her on the defensive and he had hardly just arrived. "What circumstances? I wasn't asking your opinion on the matter or for your permission. _William__ will be unavailable for his lessons tomorrow_. Your options are to either find the time to reschedule them or have your pay docked - your choice." The longer she talked the more clipped her voice became. If Mr. Tolliver was aware of her irritation and annoyance with him, he did not show it.

Mr. Tolliver pressed his thin lips together and looked at Elizabeth disapprovingly before answering. "This is exactly what I mean. A boy like that needs a firm hand to guide him through life and not coddle him. A woman such as yourself has no business raising such a strong-willed child on her own. It's long past time you stopped letting the boy believe he has an imaginary father somewhere who is coming back any day. And while you are far too head-strong for a woman, I'm sure you could find a husband if you tried. With your monetary assets and social connections, there must be some man who would have you and William - even with his questionable parentage."

Elizabeth's dark eyes flamed with anger, but she controlled her fiery temper. She had heard all this before, but it was getting more of a challenge to ignore. Her gaze bore into the tutor's eyes. He looked nervously away. When she began to speak the cold acrimony of her speech was undeniably evident. "Mr. Tolliver, I would expect that a man of your stature and reputation would know better than to offer parenting advice to one of his clients –particularly one of a higher social class, and most _especially_ when you have no parenting experience yourself. And as for my son's father–my _husband_–William is telling the truth. He is merely away for an extended period and will return. Might I suggest that you keep any opinions to the contrary to yourself?" She stopped for a second and took a deep breath, she seldom ever made reference to her social stature and it had irritated her even more to do so now. "Now, will Thursday afternoon be acceptable for William's make up lessons, or not?"

"Does this mean I don't have any lessons today? Is this my surprise?" inquired a small voice from the doorway.

Elizabeth looked back at her son. "Yes, you still have lessons today. You just won't have any tomorrow. And no, that isn't your surprise either so the bath requirement still stands." She flashed her son a quick smile then turned back to his tutor. "I will be here at the house all day should you need to speak with me again, but I expect that this matter is settled," she asserted, clearly not giving the now flustered man any other options.

Back in the dining room, Elizabeth again settled in the seat at the head of the table. She picked up the pen and once more resumed tapping it mindlessly against the table top. Her mind was awhirl with all the plans, hopes and concerns she had neatly isolated away for the last ten years. Now that there were but a few hours left until Will's return, every thing came flooding to the forefront of her thoughts. The inability to focus or concentrate was a new and unpleasant experience for her. _How hard is this going to be to bring __Will__ back into our lives? Surely we've both changed over the last ten years. I certainly have. How could he not have? He's spent the past ten years ferrying the dead. By strictest definition, he is technically dead himself._

Then there was the issue of William. She had learned first hand the difference between the idea of being a parent and the reality of it. While her son was her pride and joy, she could quite clearly remember the extremes in emotions she had experienced when she first realized she was pregnant. Her initial reaction had been one of intense happiness – she was carrying a child they both very much wanted and yet had feared they would never have. Next had come the profound sadness at the realization that Will would not be there for the birth, and quite possibly not know of their child's existence until his return. Fear took over after that. How was she to raise a child alone? She had no idea where she was going to go, nor what she was going to do. The mere idea of giving birth terrified her. How many women died in childbirth? What would happen to Will if she were one of them? Would he be condemned to an eternity as the Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ if she was not there to meet him? Worse yet, what would happen to their child if she didn't survive the birth and he or she did? Anger followed that–anger at Will for leaving her alone and pregnant, anger at the heathen gods who had created the curse that separated them, anger at the pirates who had left in the care of strangers, and anger at herself for being angry at Will. Ultimately, what she had felt the strongest was a sense of contentment. Wasn't this child one of the things she wanted the most? Elizabeth believed that her son was a gift from God–a tiny part of Will for her to love and care for. A living, breathing promise that everything would be turn out as it should, if she just had faith.

Faith was one quality she had in abundance. If she had faith that Will would be returning that evening, then she should also have the faith to believe that father and son would overcome the fact that they were practically strangers to one another. Likewise, she had to have faith in the knowledge that, if they worked together, they would be able to adjust to any changes or problems they might encounter as they learned to live together as a family. The same must also be true of helping Will to once again adapt to life in Port Royal. Could it be any worse than the reaction they had received when it became known that the Governor's daughter was to marry the blacksmith's orphaned apprentice?

So lost in her meandering thoughts was Elizabeth that she did not hear Mrs. Lansford enter the room.

"Mrs. Turner?" she asked, the concern manifest in her voice. It was her habit to mother her mistress a bit. If Mrs. Turner minded, she certainly had never mentioned it. "Would there be something I might help you with? You look a might distracted."

Elizabeth blinked as she struggled to pull her thoughts back into the present. She looked at her housekeeper and then back at her still blank sheet of paper. She was obviously not making much progress on that front.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Lansford. I was just thinking about Will."

"He's a fine lad, he is," she commented and meant it.

It took Elizabeth a few seconds to comprehend that they were not talking about the same person.

"I'm sorry, I meant my husband, Will – not William."

Mary Lansford found her response odd. Her voice had sounded far away and detached as if she were someplace else entirely. She also had never heard Elizabeth refer to her husband by name before. She had always either said "my husband," "Captain Turner," or on occasion "Will's father." Had she not been told before, she would never have known that he and his son shared their name. Now that she thought about it, it had only been recently that Elizabeth had begun both referring to and addressing her son as William. He had always been just plain Will.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am. I didn't mean to intrude. You just had me worried is all."

"That's quite all right. I did need to talk to you anyway, and, since you're here, I suppose it would be as good a time as any. Please, have a seat."

The elderly matron gratefully sat down. It was apparent that she appreciated any chance to get off of her feet for a few minutes.

"I want to take William for a picnic this evening," Elizabeth began. "I would also like to give you tomorrow off. Do you think you could prepare something in advance for us to eat tomorrow? I would hate to imagine what William would say or do if I told him I was going to cook. We all know how that would go," she said with a resigned sigh.

"Of course, ma'am. Anything you need. Is this some sort of special occasion?"

Elizabeth had neglected to anticipate the staff's curiosity about an unexpected and seemingly unwarranted day off. She hated to lie, but the truth was something she was not ready to share.

"No, not really. I just thought it would be nice if we spend a day together as a family with no one else around. We haven't had that chance in quite some time. Besides, you yourself said that every day should be special! Isn't now as good a time as any to ensure that happens?" Elizabeth impressed herself with her answer. It was certainly one worthy of the Pirate King. Yet, it hadn't been the complete truth, but it also hadn't exactly been a lie either. Perhaps she hadn't lost her touch.

"That would be a nice change for the both of you," Mrs. Lansford agreed. She did not, however, believe a word of it. She also did not have a single clue as to what really could be going on. "If that will be all, I do believe it's nearly time for lunch. I would hate to keep that son of yours waiting for a meal."

Elizabeth started again. How long had she been sitting at the table daydreaming? "What time is it?" she asked.

"It's nigh on to half past twelve. I'm surprised the boy isn't already here complaining he's about to starve." Mrs. Lansford nodded her head as if agreeing with herselftas she turned and headed back out to the kitchen. It wasn't until then that Elizabethnoticed the breakfast dishes had been cleared. She was sure they had been there when she sat down. It wasn't like her to get so distracted that she didn't notice people around her. Had she completely ignored Mercedes while she cleared the table? Had she actually talked to her and now had no memory of it? If she kept at it like this much longer they were going to think she had become catatonic. She couldn't afford to stay this distracted. That would never do.

Elizabeth looked at the bracket clock sitting on the sideboard. It was a relic of bygone days living in the governor's mansion. The dial of this particular one had been painted to celebrate her parent's wedding day. It was one of the few possessions she had linked to her mother. That fact, along with the one that she had no similar mementos from her own wedding day–either of them–made it a special heirloom for her. She sometimes wondered exactly what had happened to the multitude of gifts that had been sent to her and Will for their wedding. Elizabeth sighed and refused to let herself be drawn into thinking of what she didn't have and, instead, calculated the amount of time she had left before William finished his lessons. The slightly more than 40 minutes remaining should be plenty of time to take care of a couple of more of her tasks.

She stood up from the table and stretched. Her aching muscles told her exactly how long she had been seated unmoving at the table. She was not now, nor had ever been, accustomed to long stretches of idleness. Now she remembered why–it was seriously uncomfortable to someone who was normally quite active. She stood still for a moment and listened for any movement in the house, but heard nothing but the low voices of William and his tutor working diligently on today's lessons. There was never any doubt when Mercedes was working indoors. It never failed that she sang incessantly in her native Spanish. Elizabeth normally didn't mind, as the girl had a lovely voice. That it made her easy to find was an added bonus. The absence of a song filling the air meant the girl was working somewhere in one of the out buildings— but which one?

Elizabeth stepped outside into the bright sunshine. Maybe it was just her imagination, but the sky seemed bluer, the sunlight brighter and the air fresher than normal. It was a beautiful day – one that was surely to be one she remembered for the rest of her days. Looking around, she noticed the logs recently split by Evan neatly stacked in the rack between the kitchen and the house. Another stack was partially completed between the laundry and the bath house.

The bath house was one of many modifications that Elizabeth had done to the house. It was the one that the men doing the work had found the most peculiar. It was so much easier to have the oversized tub housed in its own room near the laundry, where hot water was frequently available, than to have to haul buckets of it in the house – not to mention the inconvenience of hauling it back out. However, it had been no problem to construct a French drain in the floor to dispose of and remove the used bath water. The same was true of the laundry.

Elizabeth didn't hear Mercedes familiar warbling, but chose to start in the laundry first. She had, after all, been assigned the task of changing bed linens. That meant the old ones should be being washed. The shuttered door and windows to the laundry were all standing wide open. This was common practice on wash day as it tended to get quite hot inside with all the fires and boiling water. Elizabeth peeked inside and saw the girl she was looking for standing on a stool next to a large vat, stirring the wash with what appeared to be an oar. Mercedes turned her head at the sound of footsteps entering the building. Seeing her mistress standing just inside the doorway, she leaned the oversized wooden utensil against the side of the vat, straightened up and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"Ma'am? Is there something you need?" the girl asked.

"Yes, actually, there is. I want William to have a bath this afternoon and I think I would very much like to have one myself. Are you too busy to heat some water for us?" Elizabeth asked sounding entirely sincere in her concern for Mercedes' schedule.

Mercedes smiled at Elizabeth. "Of course not, shall I go ask Evan to start filling the tub?" she sounded hopeful at the opportunity to once again seek out the young man in question.

"I would hate to disturb your other work. I need to talk to him too, so I can take care of that."

"Oh," came the dejected response.

Elizabeth noticed the girl's face fall and revised her plan of attack. "I suppose if you could spare the time, it would be much easier for me if you went to find him. Just tell him I need to see him before it gets too much later in the day."

"Thank you! I mean, yes ma'am." Mercedes' face lit up.

Elizabeth smiled at the memory of her own face lighting up like that at the prospect of seeing Will. That had been years before their engagement, back when she had no hope or idea that he returned her affections. She turned and started to leave, but stopped in the doorway.

"Mercedes, if you have time would you replace all the tapers in my bedroom?"

"Tabers?" The tone of her voice clearly told Elizabeth that this was a word she did not know.

"No, tapers," Elizabeth answered, taking care to correct Mercedes' pronunciation. "The candles, you know, the tall, thin ones," she supplied helpfully.

"Tapers," Mercedes repeated the word slowly and carefully in an effort to learn this new term and nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I can do that."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said and retreated from the building—the sound of Mercedes trying out her new word trailing behind her.

Back inside the house, Elizabeth went to the study and gently pushed open the closed door. Mr. Tolliver was seated with his back to her while William sat across from him. A large stack of books were piled on one end of the desk. A large globe occupied the other end. William looked up at his mother, a look of relief on his face. He was a bright child, but he did have a limit on how far he could be pushed. Mr. Tolliver tended to exceed that limit on a regular basis.

"Mr. Tolliver? I believe time is up for today," Elizabeth said, clearly dismissing the man. "William, go wash up for lunch. I'll join you momentarily."

William popped up from his chair, straightened his books and papers, bid good day to his tutor and fled the room as quickly as civility would allow.

"I trust you have taken into consideration our earlier conversation and will no longer offer your advice where it is neither wanted nor warranted?" Elizabeth asked. Although posed as a question, she had no expectation of an answer–one was not needed. It was no accident that she had managed to become a well respected business woman throughout the Caribbean and the Colonies. People quickly learned to do things her way or suffer the consequences.

The weasely man nodded in agreement as he packed his materials. The sooner he could escape the Turner house the better. He should have known better than to cross Mrs. Turner. No one ever won an argument with her, particularly one that concerned her son or, as he believed, her non-existent husband. "Good day, Mrs. Turner," he mumbled almost incoherently "I believe I can show myself out."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes as she watched the man slink out of the house. She really wished she could find someone else. Perhaps when Will came back she could send William to school with the other children of Port Royal. It had been a difficult adjustment for him to move from a place where everyone just accepted his father's absence as temporary, to a place where few people believed the man even existed. The boy had bravely toughed it out for several weeks before Elizabeth relented and hired a private tutor for him. She had never regretted the decision, just the dearth of choices to suit their needs.

She returned to the dining room to find the afternoon meal on the table and William waiting on her. He was standing perfectly straight beside her chair with his hands neatly folded behind his back almost as if he were a miniature solider at attention. Clearly the boy had spent too much time observing officers of the Royal Navy in a similar stance. Not only had he washed his face and hands, but he had also brushed his hair again. Elizabeth recognized the unquestionable signs of a small boy trying to butter up his mother for something. As she approached the chair at the head of the table, he bowed slightly and pulled it out from the table for her. When she sat, he just as graciously offered his help in moving the chair back in. Elizabeth thanked him, but he remained silent. He then sat himself in his own chair, to the right of his mother's, neatly folded his hands in his lap, and stared down at them. He made no effort to speak to his mother.

This was not the behavior Elizabeth expected. She had entirely anticipated the gentlemanly behavior to be immediately followed by an elaborate dissertation fraught with nine-year-old boy logic on why he shouldn't have to do something he felt unnecessary. Today's obvious choice would be the bath she had mentioned earlier.

"William? Is something bothering you?"

"Are you angry with me?" he asked in a hushed tone, his head still bowed.

"No, why would you think that?" Elizabeth asked, definitely baffled by his question.

"Because you keep calling me, 'William,'" he responded, finally looking up at his mother. His eyes were missing the ever present hint of mischief that normally shone within them.

"It _is _your name, in case you forgot." Elizabeth reached out with her right hand and placed it under his chin.

"But you only call me that when I'm in trouble." he pointed out.

"Do I?" surprise sounded in her reply.

"Yes, ma'am. Have I done something wrong?" he again asked. This time he looked directly at his mother, his self confidence starting to return.

"Of course not! Unless, that is, there's something you feel the need to confess?" she said only half jokingly. "I didn't realize you didn't like being called William and I most certainly didn't realize I had been doing it quite so much lately." _When did I start doing that? _

"You've been calling me that for days now. I want to be just Will again–like my father," he pleaded. The impish gleam was beginning to return to his eyes.

"Won't that be confusing when he comes home? What am I going to do with _two _Wills?"

The boy contemplated his answer for a few seconds. A huge grin split his face before he answered.

"Keep us."

Elizabeth laughed out loud. She stood part way up from her seat, leaned forward and kissed her son on the forehead.

"I have no intention of doing otherwise. Now eat." She removed her hand from his face and sat back down.

"Will you promise to not call me William again?"

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at her son.

"Can you at least _try_ to remember I want to be Will?" he suggested.

Elizabeth sighed. "I'll do my best, but I'm not making any promises. And if I forget, I expect you to just learn to live with it," she said sternly, but winked as she did. "Now eat, I want you to take a nap after lunch."

William looked appalled at his mother's request. "You mean I have to have a bath _and _anap today? What kind of surprise is this anyway?"

"It's the kind that requires you to do exactly as I say. We'll be out late tonight. I expect that it will be way past your bedtime when we get home. You'll just have to trust me that it will be worth all the sacrifices you have to make today," she told him with just a hint of mock sarcasm in her voice.

William stared at her for a moment, wrinkled his nose, and cocked his head to one side, as he pondered her answer. "I suppose," he relented with a heavy sigh. His mind began to whirl with all the possibilities of what his mother could have in store for him today. He was far too busy to have to do something so inconvenient as take a bath, and naps were for babies. What could the surprise possibly be?


	7. Family Heirlooms

Meg watched anxiously as Will bid farewell to his wife's parents. It meant that now it was her turn to do the same. As much as she dreaded the prospect, she knew it was time. She felt the tiniest twinge of jealousy towards Elizabeth's mother. She had been given the unheard of opportunity to meet her daughter's husband in the afterlife, and yet Meg would never have the chance to meet her son's wife. Her usual curiosity combined with a mother's protectiveness of her only child wanted to know this woman that Will had committed himself, without hesitation, to ten years of servitude just to return to. Meg trusted her son and felt confident that he had chosen wisely, but it still didn't remove the sting of knowing she would never know her daughter-in-law, Will's namesake, nor any other of their children yet to come.

Meg saw Will take two or three steps backwards from Josephine and Weatherby Swann before turning to head back towards her. His face lit up with a smile as brilliant as her own as soon as their eyes met. She immediately noticed a dramatic change in his demeanor. For the first time since they had been reunited she could tell that the cheerful little boy she had raised by herself was still alive and well within the normally somber looking man. He was happy – of that she was sure. Was it possible that he had found resolution for some unspoken issue that had been worrying him? To be honest, it didn't matter much to Meg now, just so long as Will could return to where he belonged. She was well aware that her lack of concern for what had gone on between Will and his in-laws was quite unlike her normal character. _"Could it be that I've finally found my answers, accepted my fate and can now move on?_

Will noticed his mother pat one of her pockets as she stood up to greet him. She had done that several times this evening. It wasn't until Josephine had given him the pearl earrings to give to Elizabeth that it occurred to him that perhaps Meg had something she wanted to send back too. She certainly hadn't owned any precious jewels. While they hadn't been destitute when Bill left them, they had never owned much more than they could carry. What few things he had taken with him when he left England had been lost in the pirate attack. The only things of value he had owned in Port Royal had been his tools and there was no way to even guess as to what had become of those.

"It's time, isn't it?" Meg asked him as he approached her. While she was doing her best to control the emotion in her voice she was afraid she was fighting a losing battle. She did not want Will to see her cry. She wanted this—his last memory of her—to be a happy one.

Will's smile retreated slightly as he nodded his head in confirmation. The sparkle in his eyes dimmed the tiniest bit, but did not vanish, as they had so many times before. He sat down on the bench and stretched his legs out in front of him and again gripped the edges of the bench. He stared at his well worn boots and chewed his lip as he tried to get up the courage to ask his mother a question that had long been bothering him and to decide exactly how to tell her goodbye. He had been so angry when she died, but it had been a child's anger at something he couldn't comprehend. Something made him think that she understood that his anger had not truly been directed towards her, but to the unfairness of being so young and left to fend for himself. He was torn between leaving his unnecessary but earnest apology unsaid, or chancing bringing up unhappy memories for them both. Although Meg had never told him, he knew the reason she was still tied to this place was because of her misplaced guilt at leaving him with no one to care for him. His father didn't even enter into the equation on that count.

Meg returned to her former position on the bench next to her son. She watched him sadly for a few moments. Her maternal instincts told her what was most likely on his mind, but she was unsure how to broach the topic. She wondered if it needed to be brought up at all. Their time was running short – there was no time to waste. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two small packages, each wrapped in a lace handkerchief.

"Will? I know these are not as costly as what Elizabeth's mother gave you, but I want you to have these," she said in a hushed voice.

Will turned to look her in the face, then at the two tiny bundles she held in her hand. He wrinkled his brow in confusion and curiosity. He couldn't imagine what she had. It belatedly occurred to him that whatever Josephine Swann and his own mother wanted to send back with him had to have been buried with them. He made no move to pick them up. It made him uncomfortable to think that both women had been laid to rest with something that they so very much wanted to pass along. It crossed his mind how potentially awkward it might be to explain to Elizabeth how he had come to be in possession of her mother's earrings and now Meg was trying to add to his dilemma.

"What are they?" he asked as his eyes again met his mother's.

Meg laid both gifts in her lap and considered which one to show him first. She decided on the slightly larger of the two, picked it up and handed it to him.

"Open it."

Will unfolded the handkerchief carefully. An unexpected memory of having seen these very same cloths wrapped around some treasured possessions of his mother's. He had never known what they were. He had searched for them after she died, but they had vanished. He assumed they had been lost, stolen, or long since sold off to buy food or clothing for them.

Carefully folded inside was a small silver brooch having two interlocking hearts topped by a crown. The piece was quite obviously not new, but it had been lovingly cared for by its owner. Will examined it closely. If he had ever seen it before, he had no memory of it.

"Do you know what it is?"

Will shook his head.

"It's called a Luckenbooth brooch. A groom gives it to his bride on their wedding day. It's supposed to represent everlasting love and friendship. You father gave that one to me when we married."

"Don't you want to keep it?"

"I had always intended to give it to you when you were older to give to your bride someday. I didn't exactly mean to bring it with me," she laughed. "You're also supposed to pin it on the shawl of your first born child–it wards off evil spirits or some such thing."

"It didn't work so well for me, did it?" Will replied with a sigh..

Meg sighed too as she glanced off into the distance. "You weren't my first born. We had another son before you; he was born too early and died after a few hours."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Meg smiled at Will again. "Of course you didn't know. I can't imagine why I would ever have told you such a thing. Now – since I seem to have missed both your wedding and the birth of your eldest child by a few years I want you to take this and keep it safe. When William is old enough I want you to give it to him to give to his wife." Meg reached over with her right hand and closed Will's over the trinket. "Can you do that?"

"I will—although I'm having trouble imagining him being old enough to marry. He's still so young."

Meg's bright laughter echoed over the water. She reached up and put her left hand on her son's cheek as he turned his face back towards her from the treasure in his hand. Shaking her head she said, "Trust me. It's going to happen before you know it. I thought the same thing and now look. Just enjoy your children while they're young – they grow up too fast."

Will's smile faded again. "I know. I missed most of his childhood." The pain in his voice was also displayed on his face.

"You had no choice, you can't go back and change it, so put it out of your mind," Meg practically ordered. "Besides, I have a feeling you'll have the chance to learn all about the trials and tribulations of caring for an infant," she offered knowingly. "And that brings me to this," she announced as she pulled her hands back to pick up the other package. She looked at it for a moment before offering it to Will. She had to be very careful about explaining this gift. She did not know how much of what she knew of what the future held for the Turner family she could share. She hoped she had not inadvertently revealed too much of his future with her mention of children – _plural _and not just the son he already had.

Will reverently refolded the handkerchief around the brooch, and placed it carefully in his pocket with the earrings, before accepting the second parcel. He had assumed that whatever it was must have been smaller than the brooch, but he was surprised to find it to be heavier. He took a deep breath and slowly opened this package. Again, he found a piece of silver jewelry, but this time it was a small ringed cross pendant. Each arm of the cross was ornately cast with a pattern of endless knot work. The stone in the center looked to be a rough cut garnet. While the pendant itself was smaller than the brooch, the silver chain it was attached to gave it the added weight.

Will lifted the necklace and looked at it in the moonlight. The light reflected off the well rubbed silver and the garnet. The necklace too had been well cared for, but it still showed signs of its age.

"Thank you. Are you sure you don't want to keep them?"

"I've already told you no. Didn't I teach you to pay attention to what I say?" she said as she wrinkled her nose at him and smiled "I know they're not valuable, but they're all I have ever had to pass along."

"They don't have to be valuable to be precious to me. Did Bootstrap give this to you too?"

"Heavens no! That pendant has been in _my_ family for generations. It has always been given to the first born girl child on her twelfth birthday. Don't ask me why twelve – I honestly don't know."

"But—" Will started to say before Meg cut him off.

"I know some of what lies ahead for you and Elizabeth, but I'm prohibited from telling you. Will you just trust me on this?" she pleaded.

Will leaned over and kissed his mother on the forehead. He would not have thought that anything could make him happier than the knowledge that he was going home, but Meg's insinuation that he and Elizabeth would have at least one more child showed him that was no set limit on how much joy someone could feel.

"Yes, and I think I shall name her after you." The huge grin from earlier had finally returned.

"_Only_ if Elizabeth agrees. When it comes to bringing children into this world we women undoubtedly have the most invested in the process. If she wants another name, I suggest you let her have her way. I seem to recall something having been mentioned about a Josephine?"

Will began to laugh. "Elizabeth pretty much always gets her way. I'm just grateful that we always seem to want the same thing or I fear I may lose out."

Meg raised an eyebrow at her son. "That is NOT a proper way to talk about your wife!"

"I wish you could have met her," Will said seriously.

"As do I," Meg responded – the disappointment in her voice was easy to hear.

Meg noticed Will swallow hard. It was what he always did before he said something he either had been putting off or didn't want to have to say. _This is it – this is farewell. _

"Did you love him?" Will blurted out nearly so fast that Meg couldn't understand him.

"Pardon?" Meg was so startled by the question that she had no idea how to respond for the moment.

"Did you ever love my father?"

Meg noticed that he still never referred to her husband as just "father—" he was always Bill or Bootstrap or on rare occasions, like this one, my father. She was sure that Will was expecting a yes or no answer, but it wasn't quite that easy.

"I suppose at first I wouldn't have said I did. I cared for him, but the truth is that he needed a wife and he was the best of my options at the time. Besides, he was quite dashing in his day. You look very much like he did then," she said smiling at the memory. "As we got more comfortable with each other we grew to love each other in our own way. And then when he started getting the itch to return to life at sea things got…" Meg hesitated for a moment while she considered what to say. "They got difficult. We had moved to England. I knew no one there. He was gone longer and longer stretches at a time and I was left to take care of all of us by myself. I wasn't prepared for that. I'm afraid it made me very resentful and I took my anger out in places I regret. I died not knowing what had happened to him."

"And now?" Will tried to sound hopeful.

Meg smiled. "Yes, now I suppose we do love each other. It's just not the same as it is for you and Elizabeth. I'll still continue to come here and wait for him when he takes your place even though I'm no longer bound here."

Will's eyes opened wide at her last statement. He was surprised that she knew.

"He told me early on that was his plan. I think he believes he owes us both that, and I tend to agree." Meg glanced towards the _Dutchman _as she finished speaking and noticed the man they had been discussing standing at the railing. She knew what it meant. It was time for Will to go.

Will noticed her stare and also turned to look towards the boat. Once again, the conflicting emotions of elation at going home and sorrow at losing his mother again surfaced with a vengeance. He quickly folded the necklace back in its makeshift pouch, added it to the ever increasing collection in his pocket, stood up, and reached his hands out to his mother to help her up.

Meg declined his help. As soon as she was on her feet she reached up, put one hand on either side of his face, and held it as she had years before when she wanted to make sure he understood what she was telling him. "Will, you are my pride and joy. Any mother would have been proud to claim you as her son and even prouder to see the fine man you've become. Don't ever forget that I love you more than anything and that I'll always be watching out for you and your family. Take care of them. They are the most precious gift you will ever receive."

Will noticed his mother's barely concealed tears starting to well up in her eyes at last. He reached his arms around her and pulled her close for one last hug. As he released her, he bent down and kissed her on each cheek.

"I love you, mother," he whispered, as he took one final look at her, and turned to head back to his ship and, ultimately, his home.


	8. Songs Not Yet Sung

After lunch, both mother and son lay down for a rest. Elizabeth hoped that her son could get some sleep. It was going to be a long night for a nine-year-old and she wanted to make doubly sure he was up for it. This was _not_ the occasion to have a cranky child in tow. As for herself - no matter how hard she tried to drift off, she couldn't quite manage it. She was still far too keyed up and anxious to do anything but toss and turn. This certainly wouldn't be the first time she had gone far too many hours with far too little rest. The difference was that, this time, she didn't mind at all.

The remainder of the afternoon was mostly uneventful. Shortly after her self imposed quiet time, Elizabeth took her bath, and then sat in the sun to brush her hair dry while William had his. Much to her relief it wasn't as much of a traumatic experience as he usually made it. She could but only hope that their lunchtime discussion had piqued his interest enough to comply with her requests. She only had to send him back to the tub three times – a new record for William. Once to wash his hair, once for the customary wash behind the ears and once more to scrub his nails. After repeated, but hollow, threats of bodily harm if he got dirty again, the pair of them returned from the family's small bathhouse to the main house. If the idea of a surprise that required cleanliness and a nap was difficult for William to grasp, then the suggestion that he wear his best clothes was beyond his comprehension. No matter how much he begged, his mother still refused to tell him where they were going and what they were doing.

Elizabeth left her son in his room with explicit directions on what she expected him to be wearing when she returned. The dire warnings as to what would happen should he get dirty were reiterated numerous times. William recognized that his mother was never quite this adamant about any of her proclamations and vowed to himself to be on his best behavior – _best _being a relative term when you were only nine. Back in her own room, she began her own preparations. She tried on and rejected no less than six dresses before settling on the one she had set aside just that morning. She hadn't had this much trouble deciding on what she wanted for her wedding dress, but this day was infinitely more special than her wedding day had ever promised to be. She could almost hear Will laughing about her sudden bout of indecisiveness and smiled at the idea of telling him what trouble she had gone to on his behalf. She knew he would tell her she looked beautiful no matter what she wore _and _he would mean every word of it. Will never said anything he didn't mean, but _she_ just wanted to wear something that made _her_ feel she looked the part too. While it was out of character for her to be this concerned with her personal appearance, this wasn't exactly an ordinary meeting she was going to. She had been taught what to wear for every occasion, but it's not like there were any guidelines on the proper dress for your husband returning from the land of the dead.

Once the issue with the clothing was resolved, that left her hair. She sat at her dressing table and stared at herself in the mirror. She put her hair up, and it looked quite elegant, but then remembered Will preferred it down. She let it hang freely, but decided it made her look like she was trying to look younger than she was. Nothing was going to change the fact that she was no longer the barely twenty-two year old girl that Will had married. She thought about a braid, but quickly decided it was too casual. She exhaled sharply in exasperation and started to brush it out again.

"Mother?"

Elizabeth looked up to see her son reflected in the looking glass. She caught her breath as she again noticed how much he looked like his father. She gestured into the mirror for him to come to her. He quietly closed the door behind him and walked over to where she sat. Elizabeth put her arm around her son's small shoulders and pulled him close for a quick hug before returning to her as yet unsuccessful attempts to fix her hair. The two of them watched each other's reflections as she continued to arrange and rearrange her hair.

"I like it when you wear a ribbon in it. It makes you look prettier," William suggested.

Elizabeth smiled at him in the mirror. "Then a ribbon it shall be. Might I say that you look quite handsome this afternoon?"

The boy grinned. "Do I look like him–like my father?"

"Yes. Very much so." Elizabeth wondered if there was something else bothering the boy other than what they had discussed at lunch. He sounded uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

"Are you sure?" he implored.

Elizabeth leaned over and kissed to top of William's head. "Don't you think I would know?" she teased.

"Yes, ma'am. I just wonder if he'll know who I am when he comes home, or even want me around."

So that was the problem. "He will—he _does_. Why are you asking this now?"

He shrugged and walked over to the head of her bed, where the chest rested, and hopped up on the coverlet. He sat, staring at the chest with a face that looked as if he were trying to solve some complex equation in his mind. Elizabeth watched his reflection in the mirror for a few minutes before turning in her chair to face him.

"William–Will?" she corrected herself per her son's earlier request. "What is bothering you this time?" Elizabeth was beginning to feel concerned about her son. He was always such a carefree, happy child, and yet, today he was being quite uncharacteristically worrisome.

"What if he _doesn't _like me or want me?" he said in a small voice, his eyes focused on the chest.

Elizabeth quickly got up from her seat and went to her son. She sat next to him on the bed and hugged him tightly.

"Don't say that. He—no, _we __both_ wanted you very much. I don't think there has ever been a little boy who was more wanted than you." She kissed the top of his head. "And how could anyone not like you?"

"I heard you talking to Mr. Tolliver. He told me that some boys don't have fathers because their fathers didn't want them," his voice was muffled as he buried his face further into his mother's side.

"Mr. Tolliver doesn't know what he's talking about. I suggest you ignore him." Elizabeth felt her anger rising as she spoke, but quickly controlled it. It would do nothing to help console her distraught son, and he was far more important than almost anything at the moment – everything, in fact, except for his father's imminent return.

William lifted his head and went back to looking at the chest. "I just want him to come home. Are you _sure_ he'll like me?"

Elizabeth leaned over and rested her head on top of her son's head. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

William slid off the bed and put one hand on the chest. "How will I know his answer?" he inquired seriously. He thought this had to be one of his mother's stranger suggestions, but he was willing to try it. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to the chest and pretend his father could hear him… but asking him a question did just seem rather bizarre.

This hadn't exactly how Elizabeth had planned to tell her son what the plan for the evening was, but it was, most certainly, the opportune moment.

"Will?" He turned his head to look at her, his hand still on the lid of the chest. "I didn't mean the chest."

The boy looked confused for a moment, then narrowed his eyes and stared at his mother.

While Elizabeth hadn't known what kind of reaction to expect, she was sure this was not it. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

A slow smile started to creep across the boy's face as he realized what she meant. "Truly?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Elizabeth nodded.

"Is this my surprise?"

"Yes. I hope it meets with your approval," she replied good-humoredly. "We have to be at the beach at sunset. He's coming home tonight." It suddenly hit Elizabeth that it was the first time she had actually said it out loud. She could feel the tears starting to form in her eyes. After years of tears of longing because she missed her husband, tears of joy were certainly a welcome change of pace.

William and his mother simply stared at each other for a long moment. Then the boy stepped back over too her and threw his arms around her. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her son and rested her cheek on the top of his head.

"Don't cry, Mother. He'll be there—he promised. You've always told me that he always keeps his promises."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. She then took a single, deep breath before responding. "That he does. I'm crying because I'm happy. You'll understand that one day." She straightened back up, gave the boy another tight squeeze, and announced, "Let's go."

William looked up at his mother's face for a moment, over to the chest and then back to his mother. He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Do we need to take _that _with us?" he asked, gesturing towards the wooden box with his head. There was no doubt, due to his inflection, that he sincerely hoped the answer to be no.

Elizabeth hadn't considered that possibility until that moment. _Is there really any need to take it with us?_ She quickly decided that the chest and the heart inside were not required components for what they were about to do. All that was necessary was the she be there waiting. The fact that their son would also be there was just a bit of added insurance. Elizabeth stood up, reached up to the collar of her blouse, and extracted the plain leather cord holding the key to the chest. She had worn it every minute of the day since Will had entrusted her with it years earlier. She opened the top drawer of her night table, lifted the cover off the small compartment hidden in the bottom and dropped the key with its lanyard inside. She replaced the lid on the hidden cache, closed the drawer, and turned back to her son. Holding her hand out to him, she grasped his in her own.

"_No_" she said with determination.

It was as simple as that. They both now had no choice but to trust that Elizabeth had made the right decision. It certainly felt right.

The pair of them left the room, hand in hand, huge grins brightening both their faces. Elizabeth did take just enough time to cast one glance back at the chest before closing the door to her bedroom. They headed down the stairs just as Evan was beginning to make his way up them. Noticing their approach, he turned and returned to the ground floor himself.

"Miss Elizabeth, Master William. Don't the two of you look like you're ready for a special occasion this evening?"

William turned loose of his mother's hand and practically ran down the remaining steps to the young man waiting by the landing. "We _are _doing something special," he announced as if he were the keeper of the most wonderful secret in the world.

Evan leaned down to William's level. "I know," he said with a conspiratorial grin. "I would expect that you are quite beside yourself, aren't you?"

William scowled at Evan and then at his mother, approaching from behind. "How did you know before me? That's not fair."

Evan laughed before his green eyes took on a far away expression for a split second. "I was there during the battle before he had to leave, remember? I've told you that before."

"But you would have been a little boy then," William expertly pointed out.

Elizabeth reached the landing, put her hand on her son's head and tilted it back so she could see his face. "Some little boys have to grow up much faster than they should. You are most fortunate that you do not have to."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, conceding that point to his mother. He leveled his head and addressed Evan. "You never told me you knew – know him."

Evan shook his head. "I don't. I've never met him. I just know of him and what he did to save us all."

Elizabeth decided it best to change the topic before it devolved into Evan and William engaging in shared tales of hero worship. She knew that Will didn't consider himself a hero, but he might have to learn to live with the fact that many other people didn't agree with him – mainly pirates. They would just have to cross that bridge when they got to it.

"Evan, would you please make sure the house is secured before you leave tonight? And, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you leave a lamp burning near the front door? I'm sure it will be long past dark before we return. I know I must be forgetting something I needed to do, but I can't think of what it could possibly be." Elizabeth stopped suddenly. "I'm beginning to babble, aren't I?"

Evan fought to repress a smile. "Don't worry about anything here. I'll take care of everything. You two just take care of your part."

"Thank you," she said with a relieved sigh. "You wouldn't by any chance know where Mrs. Lansford put our picnic basket, would you? I want to make sure we're there early, and then there is the issue of somebody we _both_ know being perpetually hungry." Elizabeth stared pointedly at her son as she made her comment.

"By the front door. Now go!" Evan made a shooing motion as he spoke.

Elizabeth picked up the small basket. William, for once, grabbed his hat without being reminded. The twosome stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine and headed on their way. According to the clock in the foyer, it was just after four o'clock in the afternoon when they began their journey. Sunset that evening would be shortly after seven. Elizabeth calculated that it should take them a little over an hour to walk to the cove where Will had told them to meet him. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, they should have less than two hours to wait once they arrived. That would be plenty of time to feed her bottomless pit of a son, take care of any last minute questions, concerns, and worries that he might have, and allow for any unforeseen circumstances that could, God forbid, delay their arrival.

Port Royal wasn't an overly large town, but it was long and narrow due to its location on an elongated peninsula. Once they reached the edge of town there was nothing much beyond but beaches, cliffs and open space. It was the trip through town that had Elizabeth the most concerned. She was in no mood to stop and socialize today. She was a woman with a mission, and _nothing_ was going to get in her way. However, it wasn't quite working out that way: it was beginning to feel as if everyone she or William had ever met in Port Royal was out for a walk at precisely the same time. Why did today of all days did everyone feel the need to talk to her or William? It was a struggle for her, but she managed, just barely, to hide her impatience amidst the various invitations to tea, inquiries as to what shipments she was expecting, local gossip, miscellaneous social events, play dates for William and what have you. At least the members of the community who were better acquainted with Elizabeth's _trade _had the decency to leave her alone for once. There couldn't possibly be a pirate anywhere in the Spanish Main who didn't know what today meant to their King.

Elizabeth and William were nearly clear of the main square when almost certain disaster struck – or what qualified as certain disaster to a young wife and her son on their way to a most very important meeting. Disaster, in this case, was more commonly known as Beatrice Busby – the nosiest, most social conscious and stubborn woman in Port Royal. She had been a thorn in Elizabeth's side from the day she and her father had arrived from England – not coincidentally, that thorn frequently concerned Mrs. Busby's disapproval of relationship with Will Turner from childhood until now. Even Will, who seldom spoke ill of anyone, had called her Mrs. Busybody. There was no way to avoid her notice – the woman had eyes like a hawk. Elizabeth was convinced she could also smell when something that she did not approve of was going to take place. How else could she always be exactly where you hoped she wasn't?

"Miss Swann! You are just the woman I was hoping to see," the rather stately woman gushed as she overtly assessed Elizabeth's attire and possessions. "I see that you've already taken it upon yourself to take the first step. Although, you might have wanted to wear something a bit more formal – and leave _that_ at home," she continued with a cursory glance towards William.

"Pardon?"

"The new Governor, of course! You are on you way to meet him, are you not? He would be the perfect solution to your problem. Granted, he's a good bit older than you, but he's not unattractive. I understand he's a widower with grown children, but you're young enough that if he wants some more then that shouldn't be too much of a problem."

It belatedly occurred to Elizabeth that she should have coached William on being careful not reveal their destination nor their intent. She came to find that shouldn't have worried, though. While William was far from being a perfect little statesman, he did have a keen sense of when to play his cards close to his chest, so to speak—whether it was his own natural instinct or something he had learned that from her or his pirate "uncles" she did not know.

"Mrs. Busby," Elizabeth started, her exasperation showing in her voice and on her face. "I already have a husband. You know that. Will Turner, you remember him, don't you?"

"Surely your experience with serving as your father's hostess will appeal to him. Everything would be just perfect if it weren't for that one youthful indiscretion of yours." This time Mrs. Busby glared down her sharp nose at William.

"Mother, what's an indiscretion?"

"A mistake," Mrs. Busby answered sharply with a curt nod of her head that caused the tightly wound bun of gray hair on the back of her head to wobble precariously. "Perhaps we can convince the good Governor that he's a foundling you rescued from misuse by pirates during your own captivity. If he learns any differently after you're married then you can just deal with that then. Now, Miss Swann…"

"Mrs. _Turner_."

"If you just follow my advice, we can have you restored to your proper social circle in no time," the overly gregarious matron continued without any regard to Elizabeth's comments or obvious irritation with her.

"Mrs. Busby, my mother promised me a picnic on the cliffs today as a reward. If we don't hurry it will be too dark for me to play. Maybe mother can pay a visit to the Governor tomorrow while I'm having my lessons? I would like it very much if she tried to find me a real father," Turning to Elizabeth and tugging at her sleeve he added "Please?" in the most pitiful sounding voice he could manage.

"See? Even the boy understands the sense in it."

Elizabeth smiled at Mrs. Busby. "I suppose that's settled then. William and I really need to be on our way now. So if you'll excuse us?"

Mrs. Busby bid the pair farewell and continued on her way, talking all the while. It wouldn't have surprised Elizabeth to hear the woman planning her wedding already. Elizabeth giggled at the thought of relating the tale to Will – he would certainly get a good laugh out of it. How could he not? If for no other reason than Mrs. Busby's reaction to discover he was back.

Elizabeth then looked down at William who was failing miserably at looking totally innocent. How Mrs. Busby could not have seen the mischief in his eyes was a mystery to her. He was always quite adept at worming his way out of awkward situations. Today he was most certainly on top of his game—handling any potentially awkward questions from his friends or his mother's business associates with equal tact and decorum. Before the encounter with the formidable Mrs. Busby, even Elizabeth was beginning to believe that she was taking him on a special excursion as a reward for receiving high marks on his school work. She was slightly disturbed at how easily and naturally lying came to him, though. _Perhaps __Will__ can have a talk __with him about that? _Surely that was more of a father-son type discussion than mother-son?At least, she hoped it was.

The numerous interruptions in town had slowed them down considerably. Regardless, there was still plenty of time–Elizabeth sent up a silent prayer for having had the foresight to allow extra time. As they arrived at the cliffs, she looked at the worn pathway leading in two directions: to the top of the cliff, and down to the beach. It had been years since she had been here. She smiled to herself as she looked up towards the small grassy meadow at the top of the cliff and remembered the happier times when she and Will had snuck away to this very spot to enjoy a few stolen moments alone. This was where he had first taught her how to handle a sword. It was also where she had frequently and inexpertly tried to seduce him on multiple occasions. Every time she had gotten closer to her goal than the last, but ultimately never managed more than finding herself wanting him more than she had before, and finding him still insisting that they wait. She felt heat rise in her cheeks as she considered the prospect of a somewhat more private homecoming later that night.

William raced up the path to the cliff top. Elizabeth followed behind, somewhat more sedately, in hopes of not having to explain to her son why his mother had suddenly started to blush. Once at the top, they settled beneath a small stand of trees to enjoy their meal. It was soon apparent that both of them were far too keyed up to eat. Elizabeth wracked her brain for an idea on how to keep her son occupied as they waited.

She smiled as she called him to her. How could she have not realized that she knew the perfect thing to do all along? "William? How would you like to learn a song about pirates?"


	9. Apologies Accepted

It took all of Will's concentration to maintain his focus on where he was headed, and to not give in to the temptation to turn around and steal once last glimpse of his mother. He knew she was still there, and would be until the ship was completely out of sight. He also realized that it would make this parting that much more difficult on them both if he didn't just keep going—he was fairly well acquainted with events of this nature. This time at least, he had been able to tell her goodbye. It wasn't as if many people were ever given that chance. Thankfully, the short walk back to the _Dutchman _was over almost before he had a chance to think about it.

Crew members began their frenzied preparations to make sail, the second Will's boots touched the deck. There wasn't even any need for him to shout orders—if nothing else, the _Flying Dutchman _ran like a well oiled machine. And it was no secret among the crew where the ship's next destination would be.

The only question on their minds concerned who would be captain this time, tomorrow. Captain Turner had never mentioned the conditions of his return to the world of the living, but there were those among the crew who knew what would have to take place in order for that to happen. Likewise, there were crew members who knew the tales of what had transpired with the last captain—what had ultimately turned him into a monster. Out of courtesy to the current captain, no one spoke of what the next few hours could bring in terms of their duty and their obligations to the ship. The general consensus seemed to be that if Captain Turner wasn't worried, then perhaps they shouldn't be, either.

Will stood at the railing for a few minutes as the _Dutchman_ pulled away from the docks. He could still see Meg standing patiently with her hands folded in front of her, watching him closely. Beyond her were Elizabeth's parents—although only her father seemed to be paying any attention to what was happening with the ship. Josephine was staring at the sky- apparently watching and waiting for the storm she had predicted would herald Will's return to the other side and to her daughter. Will, too, looked up at the sky and its ever-growing ceiling of dark, angry clouds. For the first time that evening, he noticed lightning beginning to flash in the distance. The full moon was just as clearly visible as it had been all evening. As he looked back towards the pier and watched the island, or whatever it was, disappear from sight he was struck by how relieved he was to leave it behind. It was the one place, besides the locker, that he didn't think he could bear to see again.

He finally turned from the railing and surveyed the scene around him. Everyone was at work, as they should have been. His services were obviously not required at the moment. More and more frequently the past few months, he had felt at a loss as to what he should do. Every man aboard had responsibilities, and every man carried them out to the letter, leaving Will with little or nothing to do with the operation of the ship. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as he made his way back to his cabin. He had no idea what he would do when he got there, but it was better than standing around on the deck feeling useless.

Will's cabin wasn't overly large. He had been uncomfortable with the massive space that Davy Jones had allotted to himself and had modified the interior. There were now four smaller cabins filling the cavernous room that had housed the massive pipe organ. No one aboard could play it, nor did anyone want to—it had been the first casualty when the ship had been refitted. In all honesty, it was highly unlikely that Davy Jones would have recognized the _Flying Dutchman_ at all. Gone were the layers of barnacles, sea life, algae, and who knew what else, as were deadly triple guns that had graced the bow. Will had insisted that the remaining cannons remain in place - intact and in good repair. After the last battle with the East India Trading Company there had been no need for more than the standard complement—just as there had been no more need to bind hapless sailors to the ship for one hundred years at a stretch.

Will turned the polished brass knob and pushed open the heavy wooden door leading to his private quarters. Normally a crew member would have come through and lit a lamp for him, but tonight it wasn't done. He had given strict orders to be left alone—he assumed that whoever had been in charge of that duty had been hesitant to chance Will being inside and had thus opted to abandon that particular chore. It didn't really matter to Will one way or the other. The bright moonlight flooded in through the glass in the port holes making it possible for him to see–or, at least, to see enough to light the oil lamp himself.

Once he had lit the lone lamp in the center of the table, he sat down on his narrow cot and surveyed the room. If he had been pushed to describe it in one word he would have to have chosen austere. The entire room was paneled in rich mahogany, making the room seem dark on even the sunniest days. The table, with its single chair, sat in the center of the rectangular room. That same well worn piece of furniture doubled as a writing desk. In one corner of the room was yet another chair. This one faced a medium sized window where Will could sit and stare out at the water—one of the things he did when he needed to think. Lately, he had spent countless hours there, impatiently waiting for this day to come. Pushed against one wall was a large, practically empty, metal banded, wooden sea chest with brass fittings containing all his worldly possessions- such as they were. His life style had never exactly leant itself to owning more than he could carry. He had spent his childhood in near poverty. Life as an apprentice had only been slightly better. Circumstance had only afforded him one small taste of how comfortable life might be married to Elizabeth. He couldn't, and wouldn't, think about that now. What was there to be gained worrying about what might have been had fate and destiny not intervened? Besides, what really mattered was being reunited with Elizabeth and their son – not what type of lifestyle they would be able to afford.

Will examined the cot where he spent most nights tossing and turning, but never quite sleeping. It was not much more than a narrow shelf built into an alcove. It was serviceable, but comfortable was the one thing that it was not. Since he and the rest of the crew slept only out of habit, and not need, it had never really bothered him—at least, not until the last few weeks. Now, every time he lay down, all he could think about was how nice it would be to need to sleep again–in a real bed, with Elizabeth curled up next to him.

Will closed his eyes, lay back on the thin mattress, and tried to conjure up her image. It was easy to remember what she looked like, what she sounded like, because he had frequently been able to connect with her in their dreams, but some days it was difficult to remember her scent, or what it felt like to hold her in his arms. However, if he could just hold on, for a scant few hours more, he would no longer have to rely on memory. She would be there, at the beach, waiting for him: the same beach where they had spent so many hours when they were children, and then again after they were officially affianced.

Thinking of his wife and their young son nearly always lulled Will into a trancelike state. It made him feel less alone to try and imagine what they were doing, what they were thinking, or even what plans they were making. The image he constructed in his mind of how this day was progressing for them made him smile. Elizabeth, he knew, was fussing over what she should wear or how to arrange her hair—all the while knowing full well that he wouldn't care if she showed up wearing a gunny sack with her hair a mess—all a part of her way of keeping herself distracted when she grew tired of waiting. Will had no doubt that she was searching for the most frivolous of tasks to do while she waited out the last few hours. He also tried to imagine how and when she would tell William where they were going and why. If he was anything like his mother, he was impatient to a fault, therefore he wouldn't blame her in the slightest if she kept the news from him until the last possible moment – "the opportune moment," as Jack would have said.

Will had no idea how long he had lain in the coffin-like cot, lost in his thoughts, but he knew he should be making some effort to gather up his few belongings and take care of any last minute details. He had every intention of being ready to board the longboat and head to land the second the _Dutchman _was close enough to allow. It briefly crossed his mind that he wouldn't entirely mind being able to teleport one final time to speed up the process of going ashore, but he understood that it was not possible. He remembered the strange, uncomfortable sensation he had felt the first time he had teleported. It was something he avoided doing, except in extreme cases. And he didn't relish the thought of explaining that particular talent to his son. Will knew that the instant the ship passed between worlds there would be a vivid green flash at which point he would return to being an ordinary mortal. Or, at least, as ordinary as a man living without a heart, having seen all that he had, could be.

That moment could not come fast enough for him.

There was no point in him trying to take the sea chest. Not only was it large and unwieldy, it was practically empty and no different than any other chest he had ever had – save the one obvious exception, of course. The one in Elizabeth's keeping – the one that contained his heart. He sat up in the cot, taking care to keep his head down so as to not bump into the low ceiling, stood up, and strolled over to the trunk. He knelt before it, and stared at it, before lifting the heavy lid. The brass hinges groaned in protest at the action, prompting Will to desperately try to remember the last time he had opened it. He pulled back slightly and wrinkled his nose at the musty smell emanating from the interior. The accompanying dust caused him to sneeze several times before he was able to peer inside and assess the chest's pitiful contents. There were stacks of log books – certainly something he no longer needed; some well worn articles of clothing – _no need to take those, Elizabeth would have burned them before twenty-fours are up_; and a moderately sized packet of letters – the last of the daily missives he had written to his fledgling family, and had not been afforded the opportunity to pass along.

Knowing he would soon be going home he had sent his own collection of letters from his wife and son back to Port Royal with her of the last time they had a few moments together. Had he known at the time he wouldn't see her again until a few hours from now he would have kept a few back to reread. He might have missed a generous portion of his son's childhood, but Elizabeth had faithfully documented every detail – from the first time he rolled over to his most recent antics with his friends. Will could clearly hear the pride in Elizabeth's words as she described their son – pride that surely showed on his own face as he read her missives. But the notes he missed the most were the ones written by that same child – notes carefully written in a childlike scrawl to a father he did not know, but was anxious to meet; notes to a father that he clearly loved and admired.

Will smiled to himself as he gently picked up the letters— the stack neatly tied with a length of leather cord—and turned them over in his hands. Each one was carefully and neatly addressed to '_Mrs.__ Elizabeth Turner and Master William Turner_' in Will's precise handwriting. It wasn't as if there were anyone else for Will to write to, or anyway to deliver them other than him handing them directly to his wife, but he had found some small comfort in the formality of the process. He had often done the same with the numerous simple notes he had sent to her during their engagement. Although they had surely long been lost, Elizabeth had claimed she kept every single one of them, just as she had surely kept the letters he written to her of his time aboard the _Dutchman. These_ he would take with him. He held the letters in one hand and closed the lid to the chest with the other as he returned to his feet.

It only took a few steps to cover the distance between the chest and the table. Will lay the bundle of letters on its surface and began to rummage for the various trinkets he had stuffed into his pockets. First were the two worn linen handkerchiefs from his mother, each containing what were as close as he had to family heirlooms, followed by the pair of matched drop pearl earrings given to him by Elizabeth's mother. It struck him odd that of all the items spread out before him, the ones that were technically the most valuable, were the ones that the least care had been taken to ensure their safety. He sat down in the lone chair and studied the cache carefully. Surely, that couldn't be all he had to show for his ten years away?

After what seemed like an eternity of contemplating how to transport the jewelry and the letters without chancing the loss of the former or the soaking of the latter, he gave up and decided that his only viable option, at the moment, was to risk putting them all in the pockets of his coat. Surely, there had to be a sack, or a bag, or a pouch or _something _somewhere on the ship he could use instead? But where would he even begin to look for such a thing? Practically everything on board had been scavenged from a shipwreck. Will had insisted from the start that the crew only take what they need – it felt too much like stealing otherwise, even if the former owners were frequently in route to a place where possessions were no longer necessary.

The coat was the same one he had brought with him ten years earlier, but it was still in very good condition, as he had seldom had call to wear it. Perhaps he would be able to part with it soon too, like the other clothes in the chest? But, for now, he was unwilling to leave it behind. It _had _served as his successful-wedding coat after all.

Will partially unfolded one of the handkerchiefs and threaded the earrings through the worn fabric. That had to be better than just allowing them to roll around freely in a pocket or what have you. He pushed the chair back from the table, stood up, and put on his coat. He briefly considered leaving his collection in the cabin while he went in search of a serviceable container, but after a moment's consideration, he thought the better of it and slid everything into his pocket. He made a complete rotation, scanning the room for whatever thing that could remotely suit his needs, but did not spy anything, save for a small bundle resting in seat of the chair near the window, apparently forgotten since the last time its contents were used. As soon as Will saw it, he decided that it, too, was something he wanted to take with him. He scowled in annoyance at himself for treating such valuable tools with such carelessness. Hadn't the first rule hehad been taught as an apprentice blacksmith been the importance ofcaring for the tools of his trade? While these tools hadn't always been his, and they definitely were not something he would have normally used in the smithy, he should have known better. He crossed over to the chair and picked up the bundle. Its well oiled, supple leather exterior was rolled into a cylinder. The whole thing was secured with an additional strip of noticeably worn leather. Will untied the cord and unrolled the parcel. The interior contained an extensive collection of carving tools, each nestled in their own custom sized pocket. The collection's previous owner no longer had any use for them where he was headed, and had despaired at the fine tools being left to the sea. He had practically begged Will to take them and care for them. Will had agreed, though not knowing what use he could possibly have for the delicate picks, chisels and knives normally used to make molds for jewelry and other decorative pieces, all the while being intrigued by them. His official trade was blacksmith, but he had long favored sword smithing – a highly specified skill at which he excelled. He had also been blessed with the patience, dexterity, and eye for detail needed to manipulate the fine gold wire needed to inlay hilts with delicate filigree so popular with dress swords. He knew hecouldn't practice smithing of any sort aboard the ship—too much danger of fire, and not too mention the inconvenience of so many interruptions. So, perhaps this would be close enough to at least maintain a small portion of his skills. Who knew—maybe it could even open up some additional opportunities for him? He certainly had no intention of remaining at sea after his obligation here was finished. His next obligation would be something quite the opposite of this one: instead of escorting the dead, teaching his only child about life and all the wonders it held.

Will headed back to the table and placed the now-open tool kit on its worn, scarred surface. It crossed his mind that this would make an excellent place to put his other possessions during the transition. The wrappings were not totally waterproof, but he certainly wouldn't be as likely to lose them, and would also alleviate his need to scour the ship for a more suitable container. Besides, Elizabeth might ask about linen wrapped packages in his pockets. Looking inside a tool kit would never cross her mind– at least he hoped it wouldn't. Hopefully, his plan would make it easier for him to conceal his treasures until a later, more appropriate, time to share with her. They would have enough to deal with just adjusting to living together as a family without adding any complications–and surely the need to explain how he came to be in possession of her mother's earrings would be complicated under the best of circumstances.

Will rolled up the tool kit with its new additions and stuffed it into one of the interior pockets of his coat. He took one last turn around the small cabin to fix its image in his mind. He had a feeling that someone—perhaps Elizabeth; most likely, William—would want to know every detail of his absence. However, he hoped he would not be returning here—not tonight, not _ever_. Right now, he would much rather be out on the deck, breathing the clean salt air, thinking of his family, and counting the minutes until the first hint of the dawn peeked across the heavens. Will smirked at the thought of what Elizabeth's reaction to his impatience would be: he could almost see her smile and hear her laughter. Will had always been the calmer, steadier one in their relationship, while Elizabeth tended to be the one who had been ready to forge ahead without much thought beforehand. But now he was the one who would do anything to speed up time. He was sure she was having a similar emotional crisis, but she, at least, had the extra added distraction of having to deal with a young boy. At the moment, he was grateful to not have that responsibility, but truthfully, that too, was one of the things he was anxiously anticipating.

He carefully draped his coat over one arm, opened the door, and left the cabin. Once out on deck, he closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm his sudden nervousness. He knew, logically, that everything should go smoothly, but he couldn't help but to worry. "_What if I have the date wrong? What if at the last minute __Elizabeth__ changes her mind and isn't there? What if there is some sort of ritual required__ like the one we all participated in to release __Calypso__? Can I readjust to a normal life? And what of __William__? He doesn't know me and I don't know him. Does he resent me for what I've done?" _No one would have ever described Will Turner as a worrier, but tonight he seemed to be making up for it in spades. "_Soon_," he thought, "_I'll have my answers before much longer_."

A sudden boom of thunder and corresponding crack of lightning brought Will back to his senses. He looked up at the sky and noticed that, although the sounds of an impending storm were gaining momentum, the sky itself still looked exactly as it had earlier—the thick, black clouds covering the sky with the exception of an expanse around the moon. But still no sign of rain, though it was too dark to determine if there were clearer skies ahead. Will shook his head at the strange weather. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen his fair share of odd occurrences here, but this one was new. If Elizabeth's mother was correct, it wouldn't start raining until either just before or just after he crossed over. The whole idea still seemed peculiar to him, but she had been quite convinced. Who was he to argue with her?

Will turned and walked over to the railings and the long boat still lashed into place. Soon it would be readied for his return to land, but for now, it would suffice as nothing more than a place to store his coat with its hidden treasures while he waited out the last few hours. He stood there quietly for a moment, looking out at the dark water, trying to collect his thoughts as to what else he must do before he left. He and Bootstrap had long since discussed the transfer in command - multiple times, down to the very last excruciating detail. All that was left for him would be to bid his father farewell, but this time he would at least know where he was and what he was doing. Will felt no particular attachment to any of the other crew members, so he felt no obligation to talk to any of them before he was to leave—nor did he have any desire to do so. Anything he had of value, either sentimental, monetary, or otherwise, had already been taken care of and stowed aboard the long boat. All that was left was this infernal waiting.

He sighed and turned toward the bow of the ship and his usual haunt on the forecastle. He supposed it was as good a place as any to pass the few remaining hours. At least no one would bother him there. Crossing the deserted deck, climbing the steps up to his destination, and striding over to the railing, he put both elbows on the rails and rested his chin in his hands, while he just stared out at the open sea as he had so many times before. This time, the view lacked the coruscating reflection of starlight on the waves. That was something he missed. There was nothing to see but darkness and the orangish reflection of the moon on the black water. The only sound he heard other than the waves lapping against the sides of the ship was the ship's bells. Out of longstanding habit, Will counted the strikes: one, two, three, four, five, six, and then silence. Six bells—that meant it was three a.m. Sunrise should be just before six this time of year.

Will continued scanning the horizon in a futile attempt to discern any signs of land in the dark. The increasingly unending sheets of lightning made it possible to see for a second or two at a time, but all he could make out was an endless stretch of water. He had completely lost track of time and had no idea how long he had been standing there, when he heard the partially familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs of someone wearing boots—but someone who was _not_ Bootstrap. Will turned his head towards the sound to see who had invaded his privacy. The tall, lean and uncharacteristically scruffy looking man nodded to Will, but did not speak as he walked towards him. Will returned his gaze to the water. Even after all these years Will still felt a twinge of self consciousness when he was around causing Will to become automatically, but unnecessarily, defensive. He knew he owed this man his gratitude for his role in the path Will's and Elizabeth's lives had taken, but at the same time he also was owed some of the blame for the unfortunate and tragic detour that was finally about to come to an end.

The sailor moved with the grace and agility owed to a lifetime as an officer of the Royal Navy – an officer who was more accustomed to giving orders than to taking them. His normally well kept beard – one grown in contumacy to his military training, was in need of a trim. His longish brown locks - habitually constrained in a neat queue, were left to tangle in the wind. And yet, in spite of it all he still managed to wear the clothing of a common sailor in such a way that he still projected that same air of authority he always had- but now with a much less rigid tone.

James made his way to a spot on Will's left, turned away from the water, leaned back against the railing and propped himself up on his elbows. He turned to look at the ship's soon to be former captain as if trying to gage his mood, but in truth he understood full well what his mood must be, for Will Turner, even as a young boy, had worn his heart on his sleeve.

"Mr. Norrington," Will said emotionlessly as he sensed the man looking at him, and yet he didn't bother to turn towards his uninvited guest.

"_Captain _Turner," James Norrington replied with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He immediately regretted his tone as he noticed his captain tense up ever so slightly. Neither man would ever forget that James had died aboard this very ship at the hands of Will's father – not to mention the fact that he had lost the only woman he had ever believed he could truly love to him too. And yet, he served on his crew now of his own volition_. Was it possible that Will_ _didn't quite understand that?_

James was nothing more than a simple sailor now – by his own choice and completely at peace with that decision. None of the crew, save Will and possibly - _probably _Bootstrap, knew or even suspected, that he had ever been anything else. He had long since shed all of the uniforms, rules, regulations and other accoutrements that might possibly identified him as a member of the Royal Navy, much less an Admiral – a title that he has always aspired to and deserved, but had not truly earned by his own reckoning.

"Was there something you needed?" Will asked, still trying to sound totally disinterested in what Norrington might have to say to him.

James remained quiet for several minutes as he alternately watched Will and the cloud covered, lightning streaked sky. He finally drew a deep breath and sighed before he began to speak.

"She'll be there."

Will turned his head to look at James who was now staring up at the sky again. His eyes narrowed slightly and his brow creased as he noticed James unkempt appearance and tried to make sense of why, after years of avoiding each other, James would invade his privacy to tell him something he already knew.

"She wouldn't have waited for me," James added.

Will still did not reply.

"Had I not released her from our engagement and I was the one who had stabbed the heart, she wouldn't have waited."

"She would have," Will answered, knowing full well that James was most likely right, but having no clue how to tell him that – or even if he should.

"No, she would have returned to you as soon as was considered seemly. She loves you. She's always loved you. I always knew that and yet I was arrogant enough to believe that I could make her love me, She would have been miserable. We _both _would have been miserable."

"How so?" Will paused for a moment. "If it's not too bold of me to ask?"

"Too bold? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage there."

"By allowing my curiosity to make me forget my place."

"Your _place?_" James exhaled sharply through his nose. "Your place is with Elizabeth, wherever that may be."

"Even if I am still the blacksmith who stole the affections of the Governor's daughter from you?" Will responded with just a touch of hurt in his voice.

"Oh, you can't be serious!" James said, belatedly realizing that Will was, indeed, serious. "I couldn't have seen it at the time, perhaps none of us could, but it was what was best for me too. The Elizabeth I thought I loved was just an illusion. I've been able to see that for longer than you know. She played the part of a proper young lady for her father's benefit. She would have married me to please him and then perhaps played the same role to try to please me, but it would have cost her dearly in the end. My own inability to see both sides of a situation would have crushed her sense of independence. You…," James stopped to gather his thoughts. "You always saw who she really was inside. With you she can be just Elizabeth or a wife, a mother, the King of the Brethren Court – it doesn't matter. _You _are who she both wanted and needed."

Will looked down at the glossy black waves lapping at the side of the ship and swallowed hard. "Thank you," he said softly.

"For what? For bowing out gracefully when I had the chance? For trying to avoid a scandal for myself? No, I don't deserve your gratitude – not after everything else that transpired."

"Now you have me at a loss." Will wrinkled his brow in confusion as he looked back at James and tried to decipher what he could possibly mean.

"The heart. Had I known what Beckett wanted it for, had I not wanted my old life back, had I not still been jealous of you….I would never have taken it."

Now Will truly was perplexed. "Jealous? Of me? Because of Elizabeth? But you just said…"

James cut him off with a dramatic sigh "Turner! Were you _not _paying attention?" The twinkle in James' eyes betrayed his amusement at Will's confusion. "No, because you're a good man, because of all the obstacles that have forever been in your way and yet you overcame them, for having the strength to stand up for what is right even if it goes against authority, and because of this," he said gesturing expansively at the ship. "I can't think of another man who could have returned the _Dutchman _to its intended purpose and yet be willing to give up all that you have."

"I didn't have a choice." Will's voice was flat with shock at James' revelations.

"You did – everyone does. You simply didn't allow any potential inconveniences or difficulties influence your decision. I must admit it has been an honor for me to serve on your crew."

Will stared at James in shocked silence for a moment before again muttering, "thank you."

"You most certainly don't owe me any thanks. Forgiveness, perhaps, but not thanks."

"I've never blamed you for any of it. I accepted everything as my destiny and the price I had to pay to be with Elizabeth. But," Will smiled. "If it makes you feel any better, your apology is accepted."

"Then to quote Sparrow 'we're square?'" James turned to lean on the rail and watch the water.

"I should thank you for saving her life."

James rolled his eyes at Will and again sighed in exasperation. "I only did it because of what she meant to me – as a friend and of what she meant to you. She was right to tell me I had to choose a side. It was just unfortunate that I understood too late to do much of anything about it.

"I know. You always have and always will mean a lot to her, to us both I suppose." Will agreed as he turned back to the water suddenly struck be the realization that they had both, in a sense, died for the same woman.

"I would have willingly taken over the ship for you had Bootstrap not offered."

Will looked at James quizzically. This was probably the last thing he would ever have expected him to say. "You're certainly more suited for the job of running the ship than I ever was."

"I would have done it for Elizabeth," James amended. "And you haven't done half bad, Turner, not half bad."

Will looked back towards James and gave him a faint smile. "For Elizabeth?" he echoed.

"So she could have you back."

"I'll make sure I let her know of your offer."

"No." James said sharply. "Please don't tell her I'm here," he pleaded.

"Why not? She would want to know that you're well."

"Am I? As far as she's concerned I'm dead and gone. _You _are going back. I don't want her to feel responsible for me ending up an ordinary sailor on a ghost ship under the command of the man who killed me," the sharp edge to his voice had returned.

Will winced at both the explanation and the implied accusation. "Why did you join the crew?" Will asked, truly curious.

"To keep an eye on you. To make sure you would be able to go back. To make sure you didn't do anything rash," James answered with a laugh although truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure himself.

"For Elizabeth?" Will laughed too.

"For Elizabeth," James agreed. "And for the boy. And because you have another chance at what I will never have."

Will looked back up towards the sky in a vain attempt to cover his shock. How did James know of his son? He never mentioned him to anyone save Bootstrap. As he looked he noticed a distinct lightening to the east. It was time.

"You deserved that chance too."

James waved his hand in a clear dismissal of what Will had said. "Serving aboard this ship gave me the chance to regain some of what I had lost or missed. As for the rest of it? It's too late for that now. Besides, Captain Turner, I _do _believe it is time for you to prepare yourself to go ashore," James announced as he offered Will his hand. "Take care of them."

Will accepted the handshake. "I gave you my word on that long ago."

"So you did – just make sure your word extends to your son too."

"It does," Will confirmed still taken aback by the seriousness of James' tone.

"If the boy is anything like his parents you have a far more difficult task awaiting you."

Will smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Now go!" James ordered.

"I do believe I'm still in command here?" Will raised an eyebrow as he asked.

James shrugged. "Old habits and such," he said with another wave of his hand.

Will left James staring out at the water as he made his way down the steps to the midsection of the ship and climbed the rat lines. He stared towards the direction of the soon to be rising sun and began counting down the minutes – minutes that would seem the longest of his life.


	10. Permission Granted

Elizabeth leaned back against a tree and allowed the dappled rays of the sinking sun peeking through the branches to warm her face. She opened her eyes from time to time to check the how close it was to sundown. She didn't actually need to make the effort. There was no way that William would allow her to fall asleep and miss the exact moment of his father's return. He hadn't allowed more than five minutes to pass between each time he questioned his mother about when they should leave for the cliff's edge. At least now he had stopped asking why she wanted to wait on the cliff instead of down on the shore. If she had to guess that change had nothing to do with him learning to be patient and everything to do with the view afforded by his perch in the top of the tree. It briefly crossed her mind that she should have perhaps warned her son exactly how his father's ship would appear. While he was overly observant for his age and figured things out quickly, she wasn't sure he quite understood all the ramifications of the green flash she was waiting for. Perhaps it was best to just leave him alone to his solitary vigil in the treetops. It wasn't as if she could blame him for his impatience. He was just like her in that respect.

Elizabeth looked up at her son in his makeshift look out high above in the very same tree. She was positive that he had again climbed higher into the gnarled branches after she had implicitly told him not to. The boy could climb like a monkey. From a very early age someone always had to be assigned to watch him when they were aboard ship. All he needed was someone to look away for one split second and he was up the nearest set of ropes. Today he was obviously keeping a look out for his father _and_ watching for any signs of his mother's attention to his activities waning. He was not one to allow an opportune moment to push the limits to escape without good reason. Elizabeth didn't _intend_ to be an overprotective mother, but the boy was completely and totally fearless. That particular trait he had gotten from his father -or at least that's how she justified his antics to herself.

"William!" Elizabeth called up to her son trying not to sound too anxious. "I think it's time to come down now."

"I told you to call me Will," he complained as he began his descent, swinging down from branch to branch with amazing grace and agility.

"And I told you to not get dirty and to not climb any higher into that tree," she retorted -mimicking his tone. "Now, hurry up."

William stopped what he was doing and balanced on a branch fifteen feet or so above the ground. He looked down at his mother and flashed an ear to ear grin – a grin that warned that even more reckless behavior was soon to follow. Elizabeth caught her breath at the sudden, unexpected resemblance to his father and the fear of what William had planned.

"Don't even think about it," she warned sternly.

William rolled his eyes and heaved an over exaggerated sigh as he carefully climbed the rest of the way down the tree. The look on his face clearly indicated that his plan had been to jump – and on any other day, he just might very well have done so. Once at the bottom, he dusted the bits of bark and leaves from his clothes and retrieved his hat from where it had fallen. It most certainly wouldn't do to meet his father looking like a street urchin.

"Now?" he asked, sounding both hopeful and nervous.

"Yes," Elizabeth said so calmly she surprised even herself. She could not quite believe that the end and their beginning were finally here.

The pair walked out from the small stand of trees into the tall grass covering the promontory, leaving the remains of their picnic and other odds and ends behind them. As they closed in on the edge, Will broke away from his mother and skipped towards the precipice. _We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot, drink up me hearties, yo ho. _The lyrics to the song she had just taught him floated through the air in his merry childlike voice.

Elizabeth caught up to him at the edge of the cliff, put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him in close. William looked up anxiously at his mother. Elizabeth smiled down at him reassuringly, all the while wishing she had someone to reassure her and knowing that the only person who could do so would soon be there. The pair of them looked out over the bay as the sun began to slowly sink below the horizon.

It all happened very quickly - the brilliant green flash reflecting off of both their faces and in their eyes as the _Flying Dutchman_ appeared out of nothingness. Elizabeth couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. She could feel William moving in closer to her, but she could not tear her eyes away from the sight before her to see what his reaction was.

The ship was, if possible, even brighter than it had been the last time she had seen it. She could make out a figure hanging from the rat lines and knew in her heart that it was Will. The rays from the setting sun gave both Will and the ship an unearthly, ethereal glow. Her heart raced and the butterflies in her stomach grew more active as she continued watching for a few minutes until he swung down from his perch onto the deck.

The first pink and gold rays of dawn were ever so timidly peeking from around the minute breaks in the cloud cover. There was a sudden, deafening roar of thunder accompanied by a nearly simultaneous flash of lightning as the heavens opened up. Will could hear the rain slapping the water's surface a short distance behind the ship. It was rapidly moving in their direction and should soon overtake them. Apparently Josephine Swann had been right about when the rain would start. Hopefully, she was also correct in what such a torrential downpour signified in the land of the dead.

And then it happened.

There was a blinding flash of green light and instead of a violent dawn storm there were instead the puffy white clouds and fading gold, rose, and purple streaked sky of a Caribbean sunset. It only took a second or two for Will's eyes to readjust. And then he saw them -both of them, standing at the edge of the cliff - above the beach where he and Elizabeth had agreed to meet a decade earlier. An ever so faint smile crossed his lips at the sight of them.

Will clung to his perch – never once taking his eyes off of his wife and son - as the ship continued its progress towards shore. The temptation to immediately rush to the longboat and head ashore was almost more than he could stand, but he knew that in the long run, waiting for the ship to sail into the bay as far as possible would ultimately be the best, and most importantly, the fastest course of action.

The minutes passed with an agonizing slowness. Eventually, however, Will grew tired of waiting - for even he had a limit to his patience. With great effort he wiped the smile from his face as he jumped back on to the deck with catlike grace and agility. He once again bore the stern, serious look he had perfected during his years in command of the _Flying Dutchman_. If he could just maintain that image for a few more minutes, this would all be behind him – _forever_. Will looked around at the various crew members gathered on the deck in a neat and orderly line with Bootstrap waiting closest to the side of the ship and the ladder Will would use to climb down to the longboat. They were all there with the exception of James Norrington. Even if James had long since reconciled himself to the fact that he had never loved the woman Elizabeth really was, surely it would be awkward for him to watch Will and Elizabeth's imminent reunion.

Will walked down the line much like he had watched Elizabeth do aboard the _Black Pearl_ ten years earlier. No one spoke although a few members of the crew either nodded or tugged their forelocks in acknowledgement of their soon to be former captain. Bootstrap waited patiently at the end of the line until Will approached. Father and son stood for a few moments staring wordlessly at one another before Will broke the silence.

"Permission to leave the ship, Captain Turner?"

"Permission granted, Mr. Turner," Bootstrap replied authoritatively although his pride in his only son reflected incontestably in his eyes. "I suppose this is goodbye?"

"I promised I would come to see you off tomorrow. You should know by now that I keep my promises."

"Aye, you do." Bootstrap paused for a moment to gather the courage to make yet another request of Will. "And will you try to bring the boy?" the new Captain inquired.

"That is something I cannot promise, but I _will_ try," Will responded with a virtually imperceptible smile. Until that moment it had not occurred to him how much he wanted to show off his own son to his father. Grandparents were a rare commodity in the Turner family – as were parents – until today, at least.

Bootstrap couldn't help but notice the pride in Will's voice and the sparkle in his eyes at the mention of his son. It was the same reaction he had when he thought of what his own son had accomplished in his life and what he might do with the new life he was about to begin. For years Bootstrap had been guilt ridden over having abandoned Will and his mother. Seeing what a good man he had turned out to be had assuaged some, but not all, of his guilt. He knew deep inside that taking over the _Dutchman _and its tragic, but vital purpose would be the final step in forgiving himself.

"Might I suggest you get going?" Bootstrap said encouragingly. "I suspect there is a young woman on the beach who is quite anxious to see you. Not to mention the boy?"

Will looked up towards the cliff and noticed that Elizabeth and William were no longer visible. That had to mean they were making their way down to the shoreline to greet him. His eyes crinkled as he flashed his father a huge smile. He then walked to the edge of the ship and climbed down into the longboat.

"I think, perhaps, we should head down to the beach," Elizabeth said to her son as she looked down at him. "What say you to that?"

William continued to stare at the magnificent ship sailing ever closer to the shore. It wasn't as if he didn't have any experience with sea going vessels of varying sizes, shapes, and distinctly different levels of seaworthiness, but this one had the child completely, totally and hopelessly mesmerized. He offered no reaction to his mother's question.

"William? Did you hear me?" she asked again.

"Mmmm," he mumbled noncommittally in a classic rendition of a nine-year-old's version of "I heard you, but I wasn't really listening to you" response.

Elizabeth crouched down slightly to William's level. She knew how emotionally overwhelmed she felt at seeing the ship reappear _and _at being able to so clearly spot Will. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like for William. _Did he even realize that the man clinging to the rat lines was his father?_

"Do you see him?" Elizabeth asked the boy, her voice barely above a whisper.

William blinked several times as if he were awakening from a short nap. His awestruck expression quickly disappeared only to be replaced with one of pure joy and excitement.

"That really is him, isn't it?" His voice was filled with wonder.

Elizabeth smiled at William as she straightened back up and offered him her hand.

"Were you expecting someone else?" she asked teasingly. "Now, let's go. I don't want him to make it to the beach before us!"

William took one look at his mother's proffered hand, turned away from the cliff and again skipped back towards the path leading down from the cliff, leaving his mother behind.

Elizabeth smiled, shook her head and followed after her son at an equally brisk pace albeit one that did not cover as much ground as quickly as her son's.

Will had given no thought to who would actually row him in to shore. As long as he got there, the _how_ of the short trip seemed insignificant. He would have done it himself save the matter of getting the boat back to the _Dutchman. _ He just assumed that Bootstrap would assign one of the crew members to take care of the duty. Bootstrap himself had requested not to be burdened with that chore since he did not plan to start his one day ashore until the next morning. He had claimed it would be too tempting to be that close to his grandson and not want to go ashore, but the truth was he had no idea how Elizabeth would react to his presence. He was sure that while she might have forgiven him, she would surely never forget the rather gruesome role he had played in both saving Will and burdening him with Davy Jones' curse.

The man stationed at the oars was not a shock to Will, but he was certainly a surprise, albeit a not unpleasant one. He hadn't even recognized him until he sat across from him and looked him closely in the face. The sailor's normally neatly dressed and well groomed self was anything but at the moment. His clothes were mismatched, oversized and decidedly filthy. On his head, pulled low over his ears and nearly down to his eyebrows, was a stocking cap that had long since seen better days. Even at his lowest point, James Norrington had never looked quite this bad. Will suddenly understood the reason behind James' recent neglect of his personal grooming.

"Don't you think you're living a bit dangerously - considering you did _not _want my wife to know you were on board?" Will asked. He immediately regretted how he had phrased the question when Norrington winced ever so slightly at the phrase "my wife." _She's just Elizabeth to him, a long standing friend - nothing more, nothing less. Honestly, it still sounds strange to me too._ "I'm apologize, that sounded a bit harsher than I intended."

James raised an eyebrow in confusion before it occurred to him what Will was referring to. "No need for that, it's just that I've never actually heard anyone refer to Elizabeth as a wife before. Mrs. Turner, yes, but wife? It just sounded odd to me is all."

"Honestly, even after all this time it still feels strange to call her that too," Will confessed.

"Might I point out that you have precious few minutes to get used to it? And while I don't mean to burden you with any more worries, you should perhaps prepare yourself to hear her called "mother" too," James suggested with a laugh.

"You have a point there," Will agreed. "Are you sure she won't recognize you? "

"Admit it, Turner. You almost didn't recognize me yourself. She won't even notice me. Just think of it as me making sure you live up to your promises. I would hate to see you do anything _rash_ this late in the proceedings," James said acerbically with his familiar smirk. "It's not as if you don't have a history of doing something totally unexpected where Elizabeth is concerned. Besides, who could possibly have more experience with you in these matters than I do?" His voice carried a distinctly playful tone.

Will looked back up at the ship and tried to ignore James' commentary as both men pushed off from the side towards the open water. What he needed at the moment, but could not find, was an equally snappy response. While James' words were not intended to hurt, and hadn't, they did hit just a bit too close to home – he was guilty of not always thinking a situation through when it came to Elizabeth. It certainly wasn't something that was going to change in the foreseeable future.

Will had expected to feel nothing when he left the ship, but it did fell odd knowing he was leaving the place that had been his home for ten years. Perhaps _home_ wasn't the most accurate of descriptions, but it would have to do. It was even stranger to realize that he had never lived in any one place longer than he had been aboard that ship. He and his mother had lived in several places during his childhood so while he didn't miss any one specific place, he had missed England when he left to come to the Caribbean. He had even missed Port Royal when he left - in spite of the fact he was under a death sentence. The ship was a different story. It was a place he had never wanted to be in the first place and he could not fathom ever missing it at all. _Home _for Will Turner was obviously based on who he shared his life with more so than where he lived it.

"Are you ready?" James asked, interrupting Will's thoughts.

"More than you can possibly imagine."

William ran down the top section of the path and skidded to a halt where it veered off in two directions. _Did not his mother understand how impatient he was? Couldn't she move any faster?_ He stood there restlessly kicking stones around until he remembered what would happen if his mother noticed he had scuffed his shoes. He paced back and forth trying to catch another glimpse of the ship and his father. He noticed that the longboat was no longer swinging from the side of the ship. That meant it had to be in the water. _Hadn't mother said she wanted to get to the shore first? Where was she?_

Elizabeth was in actuality less than a minute behind her son. She, too, wanted to run down the steep pathways to the beach, but was trying desperately to restrain herself. It wouldn't get Will to shore any faster and she didn't even want to imagine what effect her impatience would have on William. This was one of those situations when she wished their son were more calm and easy-going as his father tended to be - instead of impetuous and head-strong like her, but there was no changing that now. All she could do at this point was hope that William could contain his enthusiasm long enough for her to catch up.

William remained at the midpoint where the paths leveled out and switched directions until his mother arrived. It was about to kill him to have to wait for her, but he knew he was forbidden to go down to the beach alone. Once his mother made a rule there was no getting her to change it. It wasn't as if she had made that many rules, but nothing good ever came from breaking one. No matter how much he wanted to run ahead he managed to refrain from doing so - _barely_. Besides, questions were beginning to fill his head faster than he could process them. He _needed _to start asking them before he started forgetting them _and_ before he had to start sharing Elizabeth's attentions with the man headed for shore at that very moment. Worse yet, he realized he would also have to share his father's attention with his mother. No matter how he looked at it, he was going to come out lacking.

"I suppose stopping here for a rest would be out of the question? Elizabeth teased her son as she finally caught up with him.

William narrowed his eyes at his mother. "That's not funny," he complained. "We need to _hurry_!" he implored as he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards second path.

"You would think this is important or something by the way you're acting," Elizabeth commented with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

"_**MOTHER**_!" William said, getting more exasperated with her by the minute. He again tugged her towards the head of the path leading down to the shore.

Elizabeth followed him the first few steps without hesitation, but stopped short before they had gone very far. She looked down the steep, rock strewn path and tried to remember if it had always been this daunting and perilous. She and Will had come here often up until just a few days before they were supposed to marry. It was one of the few places they could go and be almost completely assured of privacy - for no other reason than this particular section of coastline was difficult to access on foot. No one ever came here unless they had a particular purpose in mind. Perhaps being a mother now caused her to view it in a whole different light. Had she known, or even suspected, that she was pregnant when she and Will had decided that this was where they would meet she might have very well chosen some place easier to get to. It had never occurred to either of them that their reunion would include one very impatient young boy too.

"William, I know you're anxious. _I'm _anxious too, but we have to take it a bit slower down this section. It can be dangerous and I don't want anything to happen to you," Elizabeth calmly explained.

"Yes, ma'am. I understand," he replied earnestly. He turned his face up towards his mother's as he spoke. The look on his face was one of complete seriousness and determination. "I'll hold your hand on the way down. I promise I won't let you fall."

Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. Her memory flashed back twelve years to the first time someone had said those exact same words to her – to the first time she had come here with Will. Sometimes it was almost uncanny how much William resembled his father in his personality and habits, most especially given that the pair had never spent any significant amount of time together beyond William's infancy. Elizabeth smiled at her eldest, but hopefully not only, child and gestured towards the beach.

"Very well, let's go."


	11. Coming Ashore

Will looked around for the coat he had stowed aboard the boat earlier. It was just exactly where he had left it – not that he was surprised by that. He carefully checked the pockets for the packet of letters and the leather bundle containing the jeweler's tools and heirlooms that had been passed along to him. They too were exactly where he had left them. Once he had reassured himself that everything was in place, he picked up a second set of oars, and proceeded to assist with the task of getting the boat to shore.

"In a bit of a hurry are you, Turner?"

James Norrington was beginning to get on Will's nerves. They had avoided speaking to each other for years and now Will couldn't get away from the man. There had been a time when Will wouldn't have thought twice about the need to choose his words carefully when dealing with him, but things so many things had passed between them since those days. Will chose to ignore the taunt for what it was – _nothing. _Yet had James said the same thing but one day earlier Will's reaction would have been enormously different. It felt strange to not bristle up at the slightest provocation from him.

"Actually, Turner, I think I would do better at this without your assistance. Might I point out that you're a bit – _distracted_? Your efforts, while admirable, are proving to be somewhat counterproductive."

Will halfway laughed as he banked his oars and again patted down his pockets. His eyebrows creased with concern over not being able to immediately locate everything he had expected to find. He slipped on hand into the voluminous space and extracted the packet of letters. These he put in his lap as he returned his hand to rummage around some more. He closed his eyes in relief as he located the package he was searching for in a fold in the fabric. He removed his hand and returned the letters to their previous location before speaking again.

"Elizabeth she tried to get you to come with her when you helped her to escape from the _Dutchman_," Will stated simply as he looked James directly in the eyes.

"As a matter of fact, she did."

"Why didn't you?"

"Other than the obvious?" James said abrasively, while quickly glancing back at the ship then returning his gaze to Will.

Will flinched every so slightly at James' words. It was easy to forget that his own father had killed James – he hadn't been there. But it was still something he did not relish thinking about. Despite all that had happened, James had been –_and_ still was—Elizabeth's friend. He reminded himself that if he and James had not been so stubborn, they too would perhaps have been friends aboard the _Dutchman_, but it was too late for that now. Will felt the tiniest flicker of regret that he and James had not come to an understanding years earlier – perhaps they could have been friends or perhaps not, but that chance was now past.

James looked back at Will, and took notice of his reaction. It had not been his intention to cause him any discomfort on this most miraculous of days, but old habits died hard. After all, for all intents and purposes, Will _had _been James' rival for Elizabeth's affections since he was twelve, but it most certainly hadn't been a calculated effort on Will's part. It had just sort of happened. There never had been and never would be a way to predict where your heart might lead you. He had always found that idea somehow sweet if viewed from Elizabeth's perspective, while simultaneously humiliating from his own.

"Now, it's my turn to apologize, again. That was out of line. I did not know he was your father at the time, I'm not sure _he _even knew he was your father at the moment, and it honestly doesn't matter. As for my reasons…" James' voice trailed off as he hesitated for a moment - never once breaking the rhythm of the oars. "I had no place left in that world. Had it not been for the most unfortunate event with your father, I don't know what I would have done. I certainly couldn't have continued as I was. I knew Beckett had to be destroyed, but I never got as far as devising a plan."

Will just nodded. It was strange to think that they had all ended up on the same side after having been at cross purposes for so long. Despite James having been somewhat misguided in some of his pursuits, he had been a good man in life, and was now an even better man in death.

"Are you still sure you don't want me to tell Elizabeth about your service aboard the _Dutchman_?"

James sighed heavily before answering. "No… yes… not yet. Who knows? Perhaps one day your children will want to know of your adventures. If you choose to include me in those tales I would be honored."

"That's the second time tonight that someone has mentioned _children_ to me in the plural form."

"Your mother and Lady Swann, I presume?"

Will tilted his head to one side as he pondered what James had said. "Yes, but how did you know?"

"I _told_ you I was trying to keep you from doing anything rash," he said with mock exasperation. "I asked Bootstrap who you would go see in port a long time ago. You do know that your _mother __knows_ what lies ahead for you, don't you? She just wasn't permitted to tell you directly, because you don't belong in her world anymore. Because you're back on this side, to stay."

"She did imply that," Will commented with a shrug.

"They both gave you something to bring back, didn't they?"

"Is there anything you don't know?"

James flashed a quick smile. "You keep checking your coat pockets. I can't imagine there being much back there you would want to bring with you," he answered, gesturing back towards the ship with his head.

"Am I that obvious?"

"Only recently. I won't ask what they gave you—that's between you and your family—but if I had to guess, they each gave you instructions on what was to be done with what they gave you, or who to ask. "

Will nodded as he tried to remember Meg's and Josephine's exact words.

"Whatever they told you is most likely a clue. If one of them implied more children then you might want to start thinking of names," James added seriously although his voice was lightly tinted with mirth.

Will rolled his eyes. "Elizabeth has had those decided for _years_ now. I don't know if I'll have much choice in the matter."

"That somehow doesn't surprise me, but if you run out of ideas, I've always been rather partial to James. It sounds quite distinguished, don't you think?" His voice carried a distinct air of importance, but his face clearly showed his amusement at the prospect of Will and Elizabeth naming a son after him.

"I'll take it under advisement," Will responded with a hearty laugh. "Then I _would_ have to explain to Elizabeth why I suggested it."

"Excellent point! I can't imagine her curiosity has diminished any, over the years." James smiled and looked questioningly at Will for confirmation.

"Trust me, it hasn't."

"It is rather a shame you don't have much to show for your tour of duty. I noticed you didn't even bring a sword."

"It wasn't mine. I'm hoping that Elizabeth has been able to recover one that I made when she came back to Port Royal—or I could make myself another one to rival even yours," Will pointed out with a smirk.

"I must confess that I _do_ regret Davy Jones ending up with that sword. It was far too beautiful to be wasted on someone as vile as he was," James added.

"I won't argue that point," Will sighed. "It's gone now, lost to the sea, never to be seen again," he said gesturing dramatically towards the water.

"Do you intend to go back to smithing? It would be a shame to see such talent go to waste. You could make yourself another one befitting your skills as a swordsman."

"My skills as a swordsman? I seem to recall you reminding me once, that I was a blacksmith and neither a sailor nor a military man."

"I admit I was blinded by convention… and perhaps a touch of jealousy. I always knew she would have chosen you given the opportunity." James shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "You did surprise us all with how easily and quickly you learned military strategy and adapted to the life of a sailor. You would have made an excellent naval officer. Who knows? There might still be a place for you there. Then again, I'm not sure how they would feel about a formerly immortal sea captain joining their ranks -not to mention that you're a bit long in the tooth to start a career like that. No, perhaps it would be best if you find some other manner of gainful employment. "

"Thank you," Will said. His voice showed that he truly meant it. "But I don't think I'll be doing anything to take me away from Elizabeth – and William." Will fell quiet as his eyes drifted from James back to the shoreline. He couldn't see them now, but he knew they would be visible again soon as they made their way down from the cliff.

The pair in question was, at the moment, cautiously making their way down the cliff. William picked his way downward with the sure-footedness of a mountain goat, all while peppering his mother with a barrage of questions. Elizabeth's progress was slower – mainly due to her divided attentions. It would have been challenge enough to keep up with her son's pace while fighting the inevitable anxiety and anticipation of being reunited with her husband, but the incessant demand for answers from William was almost enough to do her in. Curiosity was a character trait their son had in excess – one that she didn't think she could blame on his father.

"Will he still have his sword? Do you think he'll let me look at it? I want to learn to sword fight. He taught you, didn't he? Do you think he'll teach me? When I'm old enough, I mean. Is he going to start making swords again? Maybe he'll make me my own sword! Can I ask him? Does he know how to ride? I can teach him if he doesn't. He can show me places you won't let me go. Would that be all right? He can teach me to sail too. I might even be captain of my own ship someday. I promise I won't become a pirate, or if I do, I promise I'll be a good pirate. I won't kill people, or kidnap them, or hold them for ransom or anything like that. Has father killed anyone? Did he know Grandfather Swann? Why does Uncle Captain Jack call him 'whelp?' That's not nice, is it? Don't they like each other? Was Mr. Gibbs really there the day you rescued father from the shipwreck? Did Uncle Hector really try to kill father once?"

"WILLIAM!" Elizabeth nearly shouted as they reached the bottom of the trail and stepped out onto the sand. It had long since become apparent that the relentless torrent of questions were _not _going to stop any time soon – or at least not without some outside intervention.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked innocently.

"You're going to have to be patient. You'll have forever to ask your father whatever it is you want to know, but I'm sure he'll be tired tonight. His job isn't –_ wasn't_ exactly easy. Perhaps it would be best if we let him get used to living here with us before we start making demands?" Elizabeth suggested. _And getting used to being wholly alive again. Not to mention us getting used to having him around._

William looked up at his mother, the disappointment was clear on his face, but she could also tell from his expression that he had understood her point. He might not have liked it, but he agreed with her. Mother and son walked across the white sandy beach to a point just short of where the waves gently broke against the shoreline, and watched the longboat and its steady progress towards them.

James watched Will for a moment, before deciding it best to just leave him to his thoughts. He was obviously distracted - that was to be expected. But he also detected some other vague quality to Will's behavior that he just couldn't pin down. James couldn't remember a single instance of Will not being the model of cool, collected confidence and competence the entire time he had served aboard the _Dutchman_. Even the tone of his voice displayed an unheard-of evenness. Now, however, it was as if all of the emotions he had bottled up for the last ten years were just now beginning to creep back towards the surface. James had been on the receiving end of at least one of the volatile eruptions that occurred when Will's emotions took control. He did not relish experiencing it again. No, he decided, it was best to let Elizabeth handle this one. She had signed on for the job after all. He honestly couldn't blame Will for being on edge. Hadn't he risked everything – even life itself--on the chance that he could one day break his bond to the _Dutchman_? No one, save Calypso, knew for sure if what they had planned would work. It all seemed so simple when you though about it – remain faithful to the one your heart loves truly for ten years and viola! – You're free. James refused to think what might happen if things didn't work – not only for Will's sake, but for Elizabeth's and their son's too.

Will watched as his wife and son made their way out onto the sand. They were obviously having some sort of discussion, but about what he had no clue. He smiled to himself as he remembered Elizabeth telling him how much their son was like him. Something about the way the two were talking made him think that the boy quite _probably_ had a significant dose of his own mother's curiosity and impulsiveness also - two traits that had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion. And yet those same two traits were what had brought them together. He could almost hear Jack's voice in his head saying, "_funny ole world, innit?"_

James turned his head to the side and stole a quick look at the woman he had once hoped to marry. He had long since come to grips with the fact that she had chosen the correct path for herself. The last time he had seen her, she still hadn't been much more than a young girl. Seeing her as a woman grown, with her child by her side, was strangely more of a comfort to him than he could ever have imagined.

Will took one oar, and used it to test the depth of the water. It was still too deep for him to wade ashore, but it was getting shallower by the second. It wouldn't be much longer. He then tugged off the tall, black boots he always wore, followed by the well worn pair of gray socks. These he stuffed carelessly in either boot. Although it was rather warm outside he decided the best course of action would be to wear his coat. It was awkward trying to put it on in the boat, but he managed. He smiled at the thought of Elizabeth's reaction if he – Will Turner, immortal captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ – fell out of an ordinary longboat while being rowed to shore. He didn't even want to imagine what James' reaction would be.

James watched the proceedings with amusement. He halfway expected Will to just dive into the water and swim the rest of the way. It would be seriously undignified, but understandable, given the circumstances. Just then one of James' oars scrapped bottom. The boat lurched ever so slightly. Will tore his gaze away from Elizabeth and looked at James for confirmation.

"I do believe we have come as far as I can go," James stated with the slightest hint of mirth in his voice.

Will cautiously stood up in the boat, grabbed onto one side and hopped over into the water. It was not as deep as he expected, but deep enough that the hem of his breeches and the lower hem of his coat both became soaked with sea water. As he leaned back in to pick up his boots, he stole one final look at the _Dutchman, _before he began to trudge through the water to his family.

"Turner." James spoke without turning his head towards Will or towards the shore.

Will stopped and looked back to James.

"Remember what I said. Take care of them, or else I might just have to come back and haunt you." This time the laughter in his voice was clear.

"If I weren't determined to keep that promise beforehand, I most certainly am now!"

Elizabeth saw Will laugh at the oarsman. For some reason, he looked oddly familiar to her, but she could not imagine why. Perhaps he was one of the multitudes of pirates and sailors alike that she had come in contact with over the past decade. She pushed that unimportant thought from her mind as she kicked off her own shoes, and prepared to enter the water herself.

"I have to stay here, don't I?" asked a small voice beside her.

Elizabeth jumped. She had been so focused on Will that she had forgotten that she was not alone. "Yes, but I won't keep him long," she said as she looked down at William. She immediately noticed the change in expression on his face. "Are you nervous?"

The little boy swallowed hard and nodded his head.

"I'm sure he's as nervous about meeting you as you are about meeting him," she offered in consolation.

William nodded again, stepped back a short distance and nodded towards the open water. "He's coming," he whispered in a voice so soft that Elizabeth could barely hear it. The child was clearly awestruck.

Elizabeth turned back towards the water and Will's single minded trek towards shore. She unceremoniously hiked up her skirt and waded out to meet him as quickly as the soft sand and currents would allow.

Will and Elizabeth Turner both broke into ear to ear grins as they made their way towards one another. Their eyes locked and remained so. There was literally nothing that could have torn their attention each other. For them, the entire rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Elizabeth felt as if her heart were about to beat itself right out of her chest. She had to remind herself to breathe as her body trembled. Unexpected tears of joy pricked at her eyes as she put both hands on her face.

"Will!" Elizabeth blurted out as she literally threw herself into his waiting arms.

Will grabbed Elizabeth around her waist, picked her up and spun her around. Elizabeth buried her face into the crook of his neck – inhaling deeply to take in the scent of fresh salt air emanating from his sun-warmed skin. Will stroked her hair and part of her back as he nuzzled her ear and quietly whispered her name. His voice broke with emotion as he continued to repeat it. Elizabeth noticed his breathing was as ragged as her own.

Neither one paid any attention to how wet they were getting nor to the worn pair of boots in Will's right hand pressed awkwardly and uncomfortably against Elizabeth's back. They remained locked in their embrace for several minutes – each one oblivious to anyone else who was perhaps watching, each one afraid to let the other one go, and each one content to just enjoy any physical contact with the other.

Elizabeth kept her eyes closed as Will lifted his head. She wrapped her arms around his neck tighter and stood there for a moment – head tilted back, lips slightly parted – anticipating the long awaited kiss that was sure to follow... But nothing happened. As reality began to slowly set back in, she was aware of Will's grip around her waist loosening ever so slightly; next, his right arm, and the boots, pulled away from her completely. She stole a surreptitious peek through her eyelashes as her curiosity and annoyance got the best of her. And then she realized what the one thing that could ever pull Will's attention away from her was. She opened her eyes as she slid her hands from around her husband's neck and down his chest. She then turned so that she was standing by his side instead of facing him, and took his left hand in her right – their fingers automatically intertwining as she did.

She stood on her toes, kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, "I think there's someone who would like to meet you."

Will turned his head to look down at his wife. His eyes were wide with disbelief, as they glistened with unshed tears of joy. Smiling nervously at Elizabeth, he squeezed her hand, before turning back to face their son. He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly before he continued slogging through the shallow water towards the beach. Elizabeth matched him step for step. Every day for the past ten years she had tried to imagine how this moment would unfold – now she was about to find out.

William watched warily as his mother and the man by her side approached him. The man, his father, looked exactly like William had imagined. What he hadn't been able to conjure up on his own was the quiet intensity of his stare. To William, it seemed as if his father not only kept his gaze trained on him, but that he never blinked either. All of the earlier excitement and anticipation of meeting him was suddenly replaced by fear and trepidation. His father wasn't an overly large man, but he did present an imposing figure – especially to a nine-year-old boy who didn't know him and had idolized him almost from birth. William took an involuntary step backwards away from the water as his parents came ashore. He nervously glanced at his mother for reassurance, but it did little to control the butterflies in his stomach.

Will noticed the boy's nervousness and recalled how hesitant he used to be around Bootstrap when he would be home. Sometimes it had taken him two or three days to readjust to having his father around. No matter how much it hurt to think about it, he knew that it would take some time before his own son adapted to having him around. They were nearly total strangers, after all. Will made a promise to himself, then and there, to allow the boy all the time he needed to accept the changes that were about to take place in all of their lives. Will released Elizabeth's hand, and dropped to his knees in the wet sand in front of his son. His boots were still clutched in his right hand.

"Hi," he said softly.

William did not respond, but took a step towards his mother.

"You're William? I'm your father," Will added, still barely speaking above a whisper. It struck Will how odd those words sounded to him. Knowing he was the boy's father and actually saying it out loud were two very different things.

William reached out for his mother's hand and sidestepped in a half-hearted attempt to hide behind her. Elizabeth was not about to let that happen and stepped aside too.

"Will," the child answered.

Will cocked his head to one side and looked at the boy. Surely Elizabeth hadn't referred to him by his name so often that his own son was going to call him that? It would probably serve him right though, he never called his own father anything other than Bootstrap or on occasion, Mr. Turner.

"I like to be called Will," he said as he eased out of his temporary and seriously inadequate hiding place. "Mother forgets and calls me William anyway, but I don't like it." He stole a quick glance at Elizabeth to gauge her reaction.

"It's my name too. I don't mind it so much." Will tried to sound as reassuring as possible. What he wanted was to wrap his arms around his son and hug him, but he knew he needed to allow the boy time to get used to him. William's wariness with his father still outweighed his curiosity. The conflict was easy to read in his eyes – eyes that Will noticed were so like his own. Elizabeth had not exaggerated when she had told him their son was his exact replica – only in miniature.

"It's Grandfather Turner's name too. Mother told me," William-Will said as he released his mother's hand and moved closer to his father. "Are you going to come live with us now?" he added hopefully.

"Yes - if you'll have me." Will tried to sound hopeful as he belatedly wondered what he would do if Will said no. Fortunately the look in the boy's eyes answered Will's request before the child spoke.

William flashed his father a toothy grin. "I can show you the way home if you like. I'm good at things like that. Aren't I, mother?" he said as he looked at his mother for approval. His voice was gaining confidence with each word.

"Why, yes, you are," Elizabeth said as she tousled his hair. She then turned to Will – still kneeling in the sand. "Might I suggest that you put those back on before we go?" she asked gesturing to his abandoned boots.

Will gave her a perplexed look before remembering that he was barefoot. "Are you sure you don't want to wear them? Your shoes seem to be missing too," he pointed out - the cocked eyebrow, sly grin and sparkle of mischief in his eyes reminding her of a time when she _had_ worn his boots.

"I know where they are, I'll get them!" William offered as he scampered off.

"_Will_!" Elizabeth exclaimed to her husband with mock annoyance as she offered him a hand to get back up.

Will's grin grew wider as he stood up and dusted himself off. He took Elizabeth's hand in his, gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and headed to the nearest dry spot he could find, to sit and put his boots back on. Once everyone's footwear was back where it belonged, Will shrugged off his coat, slung it over one arm, put his arm around his wife's waist and began following their self-declared leader towards the trail that would eventually lead them home.

* * *

Back out at sea, James Norrington stopped rowing for a few minutes as he watched Will, Elizabeth and their son leave the beach. Will had never once looked back at the ship that had been his home – his prison for so many years. Elizabeth and the boy never took notice of the lone sailor in the longboat. There was really no reason for them to do so either.

James sighed heavily and resumed rowing back to the _Dutchman_. He had been granted his one last look at Elizabeth and had once again seen what he had always known – she truly loved Will Turner. In some small way it made him feel as if his own sacrifice had been worth while – even if she would never come to realize it. Jack Sparrow may have escaped his grasp, and was still free to practice his own unique brand of piracy though out the Caribbean, but James could let go of that too now. What was important was that he had atoned for what he had done to Elizabeth and Will, by assuring himself that Will was at the appointed place, at the appointed time and safely delivered back to where he belonged. That Turner knew, understood, and had expressed his gratitude had not been what he sought or required, but it had supplied that one last piece to his puzzle. That was all James needed to be at peace once and for all.

Author's note:

This still isn't the end. ;-)


	12. We're A Family Now, Aren't We?

Once the newly reunited Turner family reached the head of the trail, its youngest member graciously volunteered to run up to the cliff to retrieve the remains of their picnic and the lantern – just in case it got dark before they arrived home. He looked to his father for permission.

Will was taken aback and looked at Elizabeth in complete and total helplessness. He had no idea what their son was or was not allowed to do. While he had been all over the world, seen things that were fantastic, amazing or just plain horrifying, learned more unique and diverse skills than the average man, he knew next to nothing about children – other than the fact that he had one. It was just beginning to sink in with him that learning how to be a parent and part of a family might just very well be more difficult than learning how to captain a ghost ship or coaxing a sword from molten iron.

"Be careful and be quick about it. That means _NO _tree climbing - no matter how fascinating they may look," Elizabeth answered William, thereby rescuing Will from his dilemma.

"Does he come with instructions?" Will asked as he watched the boy take off towards the plateau where he and his mother had waited out the afternoon. He simultaneously took advantage of William's departure to pull Elizabeth closer to him.

"They're more like guidelines," Elizabeth laughed as she slid her arms around Will's neck. "Don't worry about it too much, you'll get the gist of them soon enough. He's always pushing the limits to see what he can get away with. Think of it as a very long term apprenticeship."

Will turned his attention back to his wife. "He sounds like someone else I know," he murmured as he softly brushed her lips with his own.

"I love you," Elizabeth sighed between kisses.

"I know. I wouldn't be here now if you didn't," he replied and continued softly kissing his wife.

"That wasn't the answer I was expecting," she managed to murmur while trying to catch her breath.

"I didn't realize it was a question," Will shot back with a laugh.

"You know what I meant!" she interjected as she pressed herself against him, keeping pace with her husband's advances.

"I love you more than anyone will ever know."

Will suddenly pulled back from her as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. "I think our guide has returned," he said, shifting his gaze over her shoulder. He was accustomed to people allowing him and Elizabeth some privacy during their infrequent visits with each other – an ever present audience would take some getting used to – even one whose existence they were responsible for.

Elizabeth turned her head to see William trudging down the path carrying the lantern in one hand and half dragging the basket with the other. His attention was focused entirely on his parents and not where he was going. It was a miracle that he had managed to negotiate the path without falling. He obviously had his father's knack for escaping serious injury no matter how careless he was.

"I want to go home now," he announced to no one in particular. "And since I'm the leader that means_ I_ get to carry the lantern," he added, staring at his father as he dropped the handle of the now dusty basket.

Will couldn't decide if his son's announcement was a challenge as to who was in charge at the moment or a subtle request to relieve him of his unwanted cargo. Then again, it could all just be how he was reacting to the realization that he would now have to share his mother's attentions – not quite the same attentions, mind you, but sharing all the same. Carrying the basket wouldn't be much, if any, of an imposition. It would also be the easiest potential issue to deal with at the moment. As with anything else, Will understood the inherent reasoning behind starting small and working your way up – complying with his son's request seemed a reasonable enough place to begin.

"I'm ready to go home too. I just don't know which direction that would be. Do you think you could help me?" Will asked in as light a tone as he could muster – he was a bit out of practice doing anything other than giving orders and more than a little distracted from his brief interlude with the mother of his son. "Do you think I could carry that?" he inquired gesturing towards the basket. "I would hate to make your mother do it," he added with mock seriousness.

The trek home was mostly uneventful, with William dashing ahead of his parents, occasionally stopping to point out what he considered significant points of interest and sometimes falling back to walk next to his mother. His general demeanor told he was warming up to his father, but he was still unsure of himself. Will carried the hamper in one hand and held Elizabeth's hand in the other all while trying to contain his amusement at his son's commentary. It wasn't as if William was showing him anything he hadn't seen a thousand times before, but it was hard to not get caught up in his childlike enthusiasm. "_This is something I could quite easily get used to," _he thought to himself as he rediscovered things he either hadn't seen for years or had just taken for granted. _This is my home. This is where I belong._

Elizabeth, for once, having nothing to do but to enjoy the company and surroundings still tried to keep one watchful eye on William, as was her habit, but mostly she kept her attention directed to her husband. Unsurprisingly, Will did likewise. They did not speak much during the short journey home, but their quick glances, shy smiles and overall expressions told each other all that was needed for the time being – words would have just been in the way.

Elizabeth felt Will hesitate slightly and pull back as they reached the outskirts of the town. She had anticipated that reaction, but had no idea how to circumvent it. Had not she reacted the same way on her first trip back here? The prospect of returning to the place where their lives had taken such a fateful turn had terrified her. Surely it must be worse for Will. The last time he had seen Port Royal he had been headed on a fool's mission that had required leaving behind everything and anything that meant something to him. They had both been arrested for a crime punishable by death. Elizabeth herself had been locked away in the jail beneath Fort Charles. It was certainly not how they had planned on spending that day. She sometimes wondered what it had felt like for Will to have to leave her behind in that cell. Watching him go had been almost unbearable for her.

"William, stop for just a moment," Elizabeth called to him. "Let's stop here and rest for a while."

"Do _I_ have to rest? I _did _take a nap this afternoon like you asked." he pointed out as he optimistically eyed some nearby trees that looked perfect for climbing.

Elizabeth shook her head as she released Will's hand and eased herself down on a fallen log and stretched out her legs – taking care to arrange her skirt just _so_. "Just be careful and don't go too far. And don't fall out of any trees, please?"

Will remained standing as he watched William run off towards the trees then redirected his attention towards Elizabeth.

"Why do you want to stop? We're almost to town and I know you're not tired."

Elizabeth looked towards the town. They were probably not more than a twenty minute walk from their home. She turned her head back towards Will and sighed uneasily. Will might have tried to make his voice sound as if he were totally unconcerned about parading into the middle of town, but his body language said otherwise. She could see the strain on his face and the tenseness in his shoulders. "I – I just think it might be best if we waited until dark to continue."

Will took a seat next to Elizabeth. "Because of me," he said quietly as he again took her hand and kissed it. "I never stopped to consider the logistics of my coming back. This isn't going to be easy for any of us, is it?"

"No," Elizabeth agreed, "but we'll make it – together. You and I have been through worse. Remember, William and I only came back here three years ago. We just say you're away when anyone asks. No one has ever openly questions it, but you can imagine the speculation. So many people left after Beckett and the Company were here that there aren't many people left who knew us or why we left."

"But you still want to sneak me in under cover of darkness," he said as he raised an eyebrow.

"I said no one questioned why you were gone; I never said everyone believed us," she admitted as she leaned to rest her head on Will's shoulder.

Will put his arm around her waist and leaned towards Elizabeth, resting his head on top of hers. "Would I be correct in assuming that there still isn't a lack of scandalmongers in Port Royal?" he asked dryly.

"Aren't there always? Can you imagine what they would think if any of them saw me bring a strange man home at dusk – especially one who doesn't leave again before dark. Or for that matter doesn't leave at all."

Will struggled to contain his amusement at Elizabeth's seemingly innocent statement, but ultimately failed as he laughed softly. "Yes, I can imagine it quite well. I've actually been imagining the same for quite some time now. I would hope that they would correct in their assumptions as to what you were up to," he whispered to her as he lightly kissed her temple.

Elizabeth blushed and giggled shyly as she realized what she had inadvertently implied. "I would be greatly disappointed if they were wrong," she responded seductively as she moved one of her hands to rest on Will's thigh. "Why should I care what anyone says? We don't owe anyone an explanation and it's not like they won't notice you eventually anyway."

"There are bound to be questions as to where I've been."

"We'll just address them as they come up, it's not like you and I haven't been the main topic of discussion before."

Will rolled his eyes. "How well I remember. Remember how Mrs. Busby tried to pretend I didn't exist, even when I was standing right next to you? She never gave up hope that you would see things her way and choose a more appropriate suitor."

Elizabeth began to laugh. "_That _one is still around and she hasn't changed a bit. William and I ran into her on our way to meet you. She's trying to find me a new husband."

"Is there something wrong with the old one?" Will asked mischievously. "I seem to recall him being an affable young man."

"He was –_is_," she grinned at him as she leaned in to kiss him.

"And how did you convince her that you were _not_ on the market, as it were?"

"I didn't. William told her I would think about her offer. I know I should have scolded him for lying, but I had more important things on my mind," she said as she again started to caress his thigh.

"I see you still haven't learned to be patient about everything," Will laughed as he straightened up and got back to his feet. He offered his hand to Elizabeth.

"Yes, I have," Elizabeth replied indignantly, accepting his offer to help her up. "There are just some things I've waited far too patiently for." She stood on her toes, stretched her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. This time she had his complete, undivided attention.

"Can we go home now?" a loud voice announced.

Will pulled back from his wife with a low groan in his throat – so soft that only she could hear it. There was that unexpected audience again. The truth was the he was suddenly in a bit more of a hurry to get home too. He gave Elizabeth one more quick kiss on the lips before answering his son, never once tearing his eyes away from his wife's face. "I think that would be a good idea," he said half to William and half to Elizabeth.

William retrieved the temporarily abandoned lantern, lit it, and waited for his parents. Will stepped away from Elizabeth just long enough to put his coat back on, nervously pat the pockets, and collect the empty basket before taking her hand again to finish the walk home.

The closer they got to the house, the quieter everyone became. Will had no idea where they were headed. He didn't see much point in trying to make out the details of the various shops and homes along their route as he was sure they had changed significantly in the past eleven years. Elizabeth had mentioned that she had done quite well for herself so it didn't really surprise him when they made their way towards one of the nicer sections of town. It wasn't as prestigious as living in the Governor's mansion, but it would certainly be more than sufficient. William turned around and flashed his father an increasingly familiar grin as they turned on Carmen Street. He continued walking backwards for several yards before turning back the right way and running to an entrance not too far ahead. Will could do nothing but to assume that this was the family home – a large home at that. Apparently "quite well" was somewhat of an understatement on Elizabeth's part.

Will and Elizabeth finally caught up with William at the entrance to the house. As soon as they arrived William opened the door and held it for his parents like a perfect little gentleman. Will stopped a few feet from the door, pulling Elizabeth to a stop with him. He dropped the basket to the ground, turned to Elizabeth and scooped her up instead.

"Will!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing?"

Will ignored her question. "William, can you bring the basket in the house? My hands seem to be full at the moment." His gaze intently focused on his wife's face.

William pushed the doorstop into place and heeded his father's request, but not without looking at his parents as if they had both taken complete leave of their senses.

Elizabeth half-heartedly tried to wriggle her way free, but at the same time wrapping her right arm around Will's neck for support.

"I wouldn't suggest that," he murmured as he tightened his grip.

"I asked you what you're doing."

"I thought I was supposed to carry you over the threshold? I seem to recall you mentioning that to me a time or two – or three," he said teasingly.

"That was supposed to be when we got married! And you did carry me that night." Her eyes remained locked with her husband's.

"There wasn't a proper threshold so it didn't count, now did it? That means we're a bit behind schedule. Just add it to the list of things we need to catch up on." His eyes sparkled in the moonlight – amplifying the mischief present in them.

Elizabeth laughed as she gently touched his face with her left hand before laying her head on his shoulder. Will turned sideways so that he could make it through the single door without bumping into the door jamb. The entrance hall was no where near as grand as the one at the mansion Elizabeth had once lived in, but it was of a significant size. A matched pair of oil lamps on the side table was lit. The wicks turned low -their buttery yellow glow casting shadows on the white washed walls. Will could not see far down the hall, but it was obvious that the house was rather large. Having this much space was going to be new to him too, but he was more than willing to make the effort.

"I think you can put me down now," Elizabeth's voice plainly indicated her wish that her husband not do so.

"No, not yet." Their time apart had done nothing to weaken their ability to interpret each other's desires without them being spoken.

Will began walking down the wide hallway, stopping in front of each door and room they passed, waiting for some sign that they should enter. William took it upon himself to close the front door and lock it before trailing his parents down the hall. He ducked under his mother's dangling feet and moved quickly to a set of double doors just ahead of his parents. He pushed the doors open with the grace and flourishes of the finest butler and gestured for them to step inside.

"This is our sitting room," he proclaimed.

The lamps in this room too, were lit and turned low. As Will gently set Elizabeth down on a small sofa facing the unlit fireplace; William made his rounds turning up all the lamps. Will turned a full circle taking in the simple, but elegant furnishings. On either side of the sofa was a pair of matched armchairs. All three upholstered in some dark fabric – blue possibly? It was difficult to tell in the low light. Mounted over the fireplace were two crossed swords – both of which he recognized, for he had made them himself. How Elizabeth had acquired them he had no idea. What he was sure of was that should the need arise, he could easily pull either one from its fixture and use it immediately. It would only surprise him to find that they were _not _well cared for and razor sharp. One the wall opposite the door was a set of heavy draperies covering what Will supposed were windows and an exit to the outside. He didn't pause long enough to examine any other details of the room. Those could wait until a more appropriate time - a time when he wasn't intent on other things.

While Will was perusing his new surroundings, William finished his task and plopped down on the sofa next to his mother. Will looked at him for a moment and considered asking him to move, but then thought better of it. William was used to being protective of his mother. It wasn't as if he was going to hand over all that responsibility to Will after just a few hours. Will looked at Elizabeth, shrugged slightly, turned one of the chairs towards the sofa and sat down, noting as he did how odd it felt to be sitting on a comfortable chair after a lifetime of austerity.

"Tell me how you met mother."

"William, you know that already," his mother reminded him.

"But I haven't heard father tell it," he importantly pointed out.

"It's the same story," Elizabeth said somewhat exasperated. She was beginning to regret her decision to have her son take a nap. He was just as awake and alert as when they had left the house earlier that afternoon. This was definitely not part of her plan.

"I still want to hear it," he begged, snuggling close to his mother, but not taking his eyes off of his father. "I want to hear everything about how mother saw you in the water, and how they pulled you out, and, and, and, about mother stealing your medallion because she thought you were a pirate. You weren't _really_ a pirate, were you? At least not then, right? Isn't that the first time Uncle Captain Jack beat you in a sword fight? "

"He cheated," Will interjected without thinking. "And we didn't meet him until years later."

William's eyes widened with disbelief and horror at the suggestion that Jack would do something less than honorable. Will cast Elizabeth a curious glance. She smiled apologetically and shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm beginning to think that my version of the story may not be the same as your mother's?" Will continued.

"No, yours and mine _are_ the same. The variations are courtesy of Jack. He's never been one to pass up the opportunity to portray himself as the all conquering hero – that goes double when talking to small boys," Elizabeth responded, rolling her eyes.

"Why am I suddenly feeling the obligation to set the record straight?" Will said to Elizabeth, the mischievous twinkling in his eyes betraying his amusement. His expression suddenly turned serious as he finally processed all that had been said. He looked back at William. "Wait - did you say _Uncle _Captain Jack?" There was just the slightest hint of distress in his voice.

"Yes, sir. He used to come visit us before we lived here. He still sends me birthday presents. They're just not always on my birthday. So does Uncle Hector."

"Uncle Hector? Does he come for visits too?" Will's disquietude was growing exponentially now.

"Not so much, but he gets my birthday right. I want a monkey like his, but mother keeps telling me no."

"I'm afraid I'll have to agree with her on that point," his shock at the revelation of his son's honorary uncles ebbing – but only minimally.

William frowned slightly. He wasn't going to argue, he knew better than that. And hadn't he ended up with a dog as a consolation prize? Still, who wouldn't be impressed by an undead monkey as a pet? "Will you tell me the story?" he asked again barely concealing a yawn that his mother had been wishing for most fervently.

"Just the one," Elizabeth interjected "And then it's time for somebody to go to bed."

"That sounds like a good idea. We have all the time in the world now for me to tell you stories," Will agreed. "And to be honest, I'm kind of ready to go to bed myself," he added, this time directing his attention towards his wife. The slight smile on his lips and the look in his eyes letting her know beyond any shadow of a doubt what his intent was.

William heaved a heavy sigh. "I suppose," he relented.

And so Will told his son of how his own mother had died and he had taken off by himself at a young age to find his father, but the ship he had been sailing on had been attacked by pirates. He told of his subsequent rescue by the crew of the_ Dauntless _and how he had been apprenticed to Mr. Brown to become a blacksmith, yet still had remained friends with Elizabeth. The tale skipped ahead and continued with her kidnapping by undead pirates – although leaving out the part that the boy's now honorary Uncle Hector had been responsible, and how he, Will had rescued her and vice versa. He confessed how very much he had wanted to marry Elizabeth immediately, but had been forced to wait until he had finished his apprenticeship. Will was just beginning his account of all the commotion surrounding the planning of the wedding when he noticed, thankfully, that William was obviously beginning to nod off – surely he couldn't stay awake much longer. Elizabeth confirmed his suspicion with a slight nod of her head and a faint smile of her own – all without removing her eyes from their groggy child.

Partly due to the urgency he felt to keep the story short, and partly because he wasn't ready to discuss some details from that part of his life yet Will excluded certain details. He had not mentioned the difference in station that had nearly kept them apart forever, Elizabeth's engagement to another man, or his well timed, but potentially life threatening rescue of Jack. Not knowing how much William knew of what his parents had been through both together and apart, Will also opted to omit their arrests, the circumstances surrounding it, their temporary and extended separations, and the events leading up to them. Those memories reminded Will - not for the first time - what a miracle it was that his and Elizabeth's son existed at all.

Elizabeth eased herself from the sofa and gently allowed William to slide down onto the soft cushions. He wasn't completely asleep, but he was close enough that he did not protest when his mother moved. Elizabeth stretched on hand towards her husband in an obvious invitation for him to rise too. Will took her hand and stood facing her. He put his free hand on her cheek and leaned in to kiss her. This time the kiss they shared was unequivocally a blatant request and invitation for a much more intimate and private reunion than what they had thus far been afforded.

Elizabeth reluctantly pulled herself away from Will. She smiled to herself at the sight of him standing stock still, eyes closed, mouth partly open and breathing harder than normal. It was reassuring to know that she held the same power of him now as she always had – a power that was undoubtedly reciprocated.

"I'll take care of the lamps, if you can carry William," she whispered, somewhat breathless herself.

Will nodded, eyes still closed as Elizabeth made her way around the room. She doused all but one lamp and returned to the sofa. Will, apparently recovered from his recent trance like state, was standing beside it, looking down at the sleeping boy. When Elizabeth reached his side, he glanced at her once, and then leaned down to pick up their son.

Will grunted slightly as he picked up William. He looked small, but he weighed more than Will had expected. "Upstairs?" he asked softly not wanting to wake his son.

Elizabeth nodded in reply, but did not move. She continued to stare awe-struck at the two most important people in her life in the same room at last. "Do you realize the last time you held him he was only a few weeks old?" The emotion in her voice threatened to overcome her.

Will closed his eyes for an instant before opening them and looking down at the child in his arms. "Yes," he agreed. "But I'm trying to stay focused on what lies ahead instead of what all I missed."

Elizabeth gave him a sad half smile and started for the door. She had heard the unmistakable emotion in her husband's voice, and like him she knew there was no sense in dwelling on what had gone before. They could not regain the time they had lost together, but they could move forward as a family, as they had always wished. Will followed behind Elizabeth; his attention focused more on his wife's silhouette illuminated by the lamp's glow and the limp boy he was carrying instead of his surroundings. There would be plenty of time to explore the house later. Right now he had far more pressing matters to attend to. The Turner family paraded out into the hall and up the stairs.

Elizabeth stopped on the upper landing and cast an anxious glance at the door at the top of the stairs before turning the corner and heading down the narrow hallway. Will, too, cast a glance at the door, surmising that it must lead to their room. The idea of sharing a living space with Elizabeth was both exciting and daunting - for until now Will had led a solitary existence - his choice in the matter having never been taken into account.

Will followed his wife to the end of the hallway and through the door to the smallish room at the end. As with the rest of the house it was difficult to make out any details by the light of the lone lamp, but Will could tell it was definitely a child's room by the outlines of toys neatly lining the shelves. Elizabeth gestured to Will to put their son on his narrow bed while she retrieved his night shirt. William woke up just enough to sit slouched on the edge of the mattress.

"This is the fun part," Elizabeth said to Will.

"How so?" Will retreated to a spot near the door jamb.

"Just watch."

And thus Elizabeth began the awkward process of getting her son into his night clothes and tucked into bed. While William was semi-conscious, he wasn't alert enough to be of much help. It was much like trying to undress and redress an oversized rag doll with a mind of its own. Will watched in amazement as his wife tugged, pulled, cajoled and coaxed William into cooperating. He had never actually taken the time to consider exactly what it meant for Elizabeth to a _mother_. He had never really thought of her in those terms and it most certainly wasn't a part of her he knew, but from his perspective, she seemed to be quite adept at it. "_Please allow me to be as equally good a parent as she is," _he thought as he watched the tender interaction between mother and son. _And please allow him to learn to love me too. _


	13. Getting Reacquaited

Elizabeth tucked William into his bed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you," she said as she kissed him on the forehead.

" G'night, mother," he mumbled sleepily as he rolled over on his side and buried his head in a pillow.

"Didn't you forget something?"

"I love you too."

"I think you're still forgetting something."

William peered at his mother through half closed eyes. "Good night," he said in Will's general direction.

Elizabeth leaned over her son and whispered in his ear. "I think you can do better than that."

"Thank you for the story, Captain Turner."

"William!" Elizabeth hissed in surprise, but the boy was already fast asleep. She turned to Will with an apology on the tip of her tongue, but he cut her off before she could make a sound.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. He doesn't know me. I knew it would take some time," he said, trying to sound optimistic, but knowing all the while that Elizabeth could both hear and see his disappointment. _Just remember you were once in his place too - only with not nearly as long a separation to overcome. He'll come around. It will just take patience. _

Elizabeth stood up, retrieved the lamp and brushed past Will into the hallway. Will turned to face her, stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him. They looked at each other nervously. They both knew what they wanted, but it had been so long that some of their initial shyness with each other had inexplicably and unexpectedly returned. It wasn't as if where things were inevitably leading was a new experience for them – proof of that was now sound asleep in his own bed, but it had been such a very long time since they had more than a scant few minutes alone.

"I would carry you this time too, but I have no idea where I'm going," Will offered with a shy smile, breaking the awkward silence.

Elizabeth giggled softly as she gestured for him to follow her. Will did not hesitate, but followed her back down the hall and through the door he had observed earlier. He could tell by the moonlight coming in though the open draperies that the room was large, but beyond that he only had eyes for Elizabeth. He followed her to what appeared to be a small sitting area in the room. He was vaguely aware of another fireplace and a pair of chairs. There was a small table too, but that he only noticed because Elizabeth carefully set lamp down on it.

Will barely gave her a chance to stand up straight before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Elizabeth instinctively leaned back into him and sighed contentedly. Her entire focus devoted to nothing but the feel of Will's warm breath as he alternately kissed and nuzzled her neck.

"I almost forgot how much I like the way your hair smells – like lavender….and lemons," he murmured as he deftly began to unbutton the weskit she wore over her blouse. He moved slowly and carefully for no other reason than this would be the first time, but_ not_ the last, since their marriage that they weren't under some otherworldly time constraints. He intended to savor every single second and instinctively knew that Elizabeth felt the same.

Elizabeth responded to his ministrations by tilting her head back further until she was practically resting it on Will's left shoulder. She stayed that way, eyes closed, breathing as calmly as possible until Will started to ease her weskit from her shoulders. She lifted her head and took one small step forward – just far enough to shrug it the rest of the way off and toss it aside – with no care for where it landed.

Will's hands returned to her waist, but he did not hold her so tightly that she could not turn to face him. He noticed her timorously licking her lips as she faced him. Will reached up to put his right hand on her neck while leaving his left at her waist as he pulled her close and kissed her gently- and slowly. Elizabeth responded by putting her left hand on Will's chest and trying to twine her fingers in his hair with the right, but the ever present green bandana got in her way. Pushing herself closer to him, she tugged the offending scrap of fabric from his head and tossed it aside. His hair was longer than she remembered, but the long dark curls were as silky as she remembered. Elizabeth could feel Will smiling against her lips as their kiss intensified. He took the opportunity to pull the ribbon from her hair letting it all hang freely down her back.

She temporarily broke off the kiss, leaned forward and rested her forehead on Will's chest as she pushed the lapels of his coat back. Will allowed it to slide nearly completely off before catching it and carelessly draping it over one of the chairs. What happened to the coat was of no concern to him. However, the contents of the pockets were far too valuable to chance damage – no matter how impatient he and Elizabeth were.

Elizabeth lifted her head slightly and kissed the hollow at the base of Will's neck. His sharp intake of breath encouraged her to continue with her endeavors. Will delicately caressed her back and hips as she continued to plant soft kisses on his neck. Elizabeth raised one foot and expertly kicked off one shoe. The second one proved to not be quite so cooperative. She remained intently focused on Will, all while gently shaking her foot to remove the remaining, and thus far, stubborn piece of footwear.

"OW!" Will exclaimed as he jumped back from Elizabeth. "What did you do that for?" The shoe was off, but at the expense of Will earning a bruise on his shin.

Elizabeth blushed and giggled nervously like a new bride. "It was an accident. I couldn't get my shoe off. I didn't mean it."

Will smiled at her seductively while twirling a bit of her hair with his fingers. "I guess we are a bit out of practice, aren't we?"

Elizabeth giggled again by way of response. She stood on her toes and kissed him on the mouth. Will slid his arms around her waist and pulled her as close as possible. His hands moved to the fastenings at the back of her skirt and inexpertly undid them. As the skirt puddled at Elizabeth's feet, she stepped out of the circle of material and kicked it aside with her foot with no care given to the fact that it was her best one.

"You _are_ out of practice," she teased between kisses.

"And you're not?"

"You saw what I had to go through to get our son ready for bed. I've had way too much practice with buttons and such that aren't my own."

"Mmmm, Then I should thank you for not kicking me again," Will retorted as he pulled back, lowered his head and began kissing her neck. He slid his hands to the front of her blouse and began fumbling with the buttons.

"Here, let me," Elizabeth offered as she pushed him into one of the chairs.

"No," he answered in such a way that Elizabeth was not inclined to argue. His voice was raspier than usual.

As he undid each successive button, Will tantalizingly kissed the exposed area beneath. By the time he reached the bottom button Elizabeth was teetering on the edge between intelligible speech and incomprehensible babble all while trying to wish away the shift she wore underneath. Will stood back up and removed the blouse – with no help from its occupant.

"Elizabeth?"

"Mmmm?"

"Isn't there,….. I mean,….. don't you normally wear something else over your shift?" Will asked both confused and embarrassed about his relative ignorance about women's undergarments.

"Stays. I'm not wearing them today."

"I noticed. Why not?"

Elizabeth had almost fully regained her senses now and looked at Will with annoyance. "Do you _really_ have to ask that –_ now_?"

Will understood as soon as the words came out of her mouth and at least had the good sense to color slightly himself. Had she not repeatedly, albeit wordlessly, let him this evening how impatient she was for this moment?

"Sit back down," she said again pushing him towards one of the chairs while making sure he didn't trip over any of the already scattered articles of clothing. "Take off your boots."

"Why? Do you want to wear them?" he asked for the second time that evening, but this time the invitation was serious.

"Maybe later," Elizabeth answered saucily before giving him a quick kiss and turning away. She picked up a splinter from the table, lit it from the flame of the lamp and started across the room.

Will pulled off his boots and tossed them aside carelessly as he curiously watched her as she did a full circuit of the bedroom lighting candles. He chewed his lower lip as he realized she was doing her best to replicate the way he had described to her what he had wanted their wedding night to be. As she lit the last of them, she blew out the splinter, and began to walk slowly towards him. The pale yellow glow cast from by candles made her shift all but transparent. _She's just as beautiful as I remember – maybe more so. _

He sat up straight in the chair as she approached, put his arms around her waist and then slid them over her backside. "You look different."

"Different? How so?" she asked as she played with his hair.

"I don't know – rounder?"

Elizabeth stepped back quickly, her hands on her hips, a barely discernable stern look on her face. "And exactly _what _are you implying?"

Will grinned at her sheepishly as he realized how unfortunate his choice of words had been. "I meant that you don't look like the young girl I married, you look more like a woman now. I like it," he said apologetically as he reached for her, pulled her back in, and lightly kissed her stomach and traced the outline of her hips with his hands.

"I think I may have to blame you for that – or thank you, it all depends on your point of view I suppose," She observed, giving him a teasing half smile as she kneeled down in front of him. "I meant take off the socks too," she said as she started peeling them off of his feet. "You would think I would be used to Turner men only doing half of what they're supposed to by now," she laughed.

"I was distracted by the view."

Elizabeth gave another half laugh as she dangled one of the socks from a finger – one that was stuck through a rather large hole where a big toe should go. "William Turner! What am I going to do with you? If I had any doubts that your son is just like you I can put them to rest now," she mock scolded him while rolling her eyes.

"I have an idea what you can do with me," he suggested as he got back to his feet, pulling her up with him.

"It doesn't involve socks with holes in them, does it?" Elizabeth asked innocently.

"Absolutely not," he said as he picked her up and carried her towards the bed.

Elizabeth closed her eyes contentedly and snuggled in to Will's chest. She kept her eyes closed as he gently laid her on the soft mattress with its freshly laundered sheets and coverlet. She lay there waiting to feel his familiar and comforting weight settle into the space beside her, but nothing happened. _Surely this isn't happening again? What is he up to now? _She thought to herself. She turned her head slightly towards where Will should be standing and peered through one half opened eye lid. What she saw both caught her off guard and disturbed her.

Will stood facing the table next to the bed with his hand on the lid of the chest. Elizabeth watched him reverently trace over the carvings and the lock exactly as their son had earlier that same afternoon. The look of profound sadness on his face was enough to break her heart. It certainly had spoiled the playful mood they had been enjoying.

"Will? I told you I would keep it safe." It was the only thing she could think of to say at the moment. She pushed herself up on her elbows as she spoke.

"You did," he said as he turned to look in her direction. His hand remained on the chest -the effervescent twinkle in his eyes now replaced by a cold, dead stare. Elizabeth would have sworn that what he saw at that moment was not something in their room. It was quite probably not even something from the present.

"Is there something else wrong?" Elizabeth probed further as she sat up completely, pulling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She shivered with an unexpected chill – one most assuredly not caused by the temperature of the room.

"I don't want to see it – not tonight." Will turned a circle in a suddenly frantic search to remove the offending container from his sight. "I just want to see you."

Elizabeth scanned the room in the low light. She changed positions again, this time kneeling on the bed.

"The foot of the bed," she said. "There's a blanket chest there. It's low enough you shouldn't see it," she hesitated for a second. "And I can still hear it. I'm sorry, I can't help it – it's a habit," she apologized shrugging her shoulders.

Will's eyes refocused on Elizabeth. He gently picked up the chest, carried it to the foot of the bed and set it down. Elizabeth inched her way across the bed on her knees to meet him on the far side. Will gave her a weak smile. Elizabeth put her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. It was all she could think of to do at the moment. What was there that could be said? It wasn't as if they had any choice about the chest and what it contained.

Will put his arms on his wife's waist and slid his hands to her hips. Elizabeth gently eased her hands from Will's neck to waist and untied the sash he wore. She then began unwrapping it and unbuckling the wide leather belt. Both of these were tossed away as everything else had been. She then moved her hands his sides and tugged at the hem of his shirt. Will released Elizabeth and put his hands over his head as she pulled it over his head.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply as she saw the scar on his chest for the first time in years. It wasn't as if it hadn't been there, she just had chosen to ignore it. At least it didn't look anywhere near as bad as it had when she had first laid eyes it, but it was still horrifying. She reached one hand up and began to trace it gently with her fingers.

"Don't," Will blurted out as he covered her hand with his. Realizing how abrupt he sounded he closed his large hand over her much smaller one and raised them to his lips. He kissed her palm tenderly before touching his forehead to hers.

Elizabeth trembled and closed her eyes as he carefully removed her shift and allowed his fingers to dance over her bare skin. His hands were still rough as could be expected after ten years at sea, but she didn't mind – she had never minded, even when the roughness had just been from his work at the forge. There was something oddly satisfying about knowing he had earned those calluses from doing a hard day's work.

A gasp escaped Elizabeth's throat as Will gently kissed her forehead, then each eyelid, followed by the tip of her nose, before returning his attention to her mouth.

Elizabeth released a sigh of contentment as she leaned backwards towards the bed, pulling Will down on top of her. Will put out one arm to keep his full weight from crushing her, but never once broke off the increasingly passionate kiss they shared. Elizabeth used her heels to push herself towards the head of the bed while putting her hands to use divesting Will of his last remaining article of clothing. Will pulled back from his wife for a moment.

"What now?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly. She noticed with relief that the glint of happiness in his eyes had returned.

"I want to look at you."

"_Whatever _ for? You know what I look like – except _rounder_, remember?" She said as she reached up to run her fingers through his hair.

"It's been a while," he laughed. "You're beautiful. You'll always be beautiful to me."

Elizabeth smiled happily up at him and gently stroked his face.

"I want to thank you too," Will said seriously.

"For what?" Elizabeth's was getting more impatient by the second. She had waited forever to have this man back in her bed and she was getting tired of the delays.

"For being there, for William, for loving me, for waiting for me, for saving my life."

Elizabeth looked at her husband for a moment before pulling him down to her.

"Will Turner," she said, as she kissed him "Can you please stop talking now?"

"I love you, Elizabeth."

"I know, if I didn't you wouldn't be here now," she echoed his earlier words back to him.

"That's not the answer _I _was expecting either."

"Welcome home, Will," she said grinning. "Now hush."

Author's Note:

It doesn't end here! _What Next? _picks up where _Waiting _leaves off.


End file.
